


Agatha Heterodyne and the Pit

by Sturzkampf



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Originally Posted Elsewhere, The Cog is Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4828865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sturzkampf/pseuds/Sturzkampf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Agatha Heterodyne and Krosp travel to Britain to confront an evil lurking beneath the hills that is as old as the Kingdom itself. But what exactly is the monster? And who can they trust?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crown and Trumpet

**Author's Note:**

> This Adventure is set at a time in the future of the current ongoing story, when Agatha is finally established as The Heterodyne in Mechanicsburg and seeks to continue the heroic works of her father and uncle. 
> 
> A first version is already posted on the Jägerkin forum (http://modojiesen.proboards.com/) but you'll need to register to read the whole thing. This version has a few tweaks and additions. The chapters will be going up once a week or so.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which the Earl of Albemarle fails to make a good first impression_

The Spark was late, but Cedric, Earl of Albemarle was not concerned. Allowances must be made for the gifted, who cannot be expected to regulate their lives like ordinary mortals. Anyway, it was good to get in out of the rain. Standing in the doorway of the Crown and Trumpet, he shook the water from his long waxed coat and broad brimmed hat as he took in the familiar surroundings. The pub was half full and a happy buzz of conversation filled the air. It always gave the Earl a thrill to be incognito, just an ordinary man who could enjoy a good pint of the local ale with his equals, not the Lord of the Manor with everyone always on their best behaviour. By the welcoming fireplace to his left a large white cat was curled up asleep. To his right, at a table in the centre of the main room, three of his tenants were engaged in a tense game of dominoes while they filled the room with a dense cloud of blue smoke from their clay pipes. He nodded to the players.

“Evening, George, Harry, Arnold.”

“Ev'n m’lord”, they replied, without looking up from their game.

The Earl's spirits rose at the sight of a young woman in an ankle length tweed dress leaning across the bar, talking to Andy the landlord. A woman in a pub with no chaperone was clearly looking for a little adventure, a little companionship. The Earl, tall, athletic, still on the right side of thirty and with an impeccable waxed moustache, felt that he was just the man to provide it. A little flirtation would be a pleasant way of passing the time until the Spark arrived.

Approaching the bar his anticipation was increased by the girl's long and beautiful strawberry blonde tresses reaching almost to her waist, the good quality of her tweed and the sensible outdoor shoes, with just a tantalising glimpse of a respectable striped stocking peeking from beneath the hem of her dress. She was solidly built, but with curves in all the right places, clearly the daughter of a prosperous local farmer, out on the town without her parents’ knowledge. By way of an introduction he gave the broad backside so temptingly presented a hearty slap. The girl jumped and gave a most attractive little 'EEP!' sound. The Earl took a step to the side, giving his moustache a final tweak while preparing his most winning smile as she turned with surprising alacrity... and delivered perhaps the finest punch ever thrown in the Crown and Trumpet, swinging from her hips with the full force of her weight behind it, hitting Cedric squarely on the jaw hard enough to lift him off his feet and send him sprawling.

The Earl, his brain still vibrating in his skull, lay on the floor, which suddenly seemed to be undulating alarmingly. It was only the difficulty in co-ordinating his arms and legs that prevented him from desperately hanging on. He was aware of the domino players picking him up, dusting him off and gently sitting him down at a table by the fireplace. His tenants liked him. He allowed them to run their own affairs for the most part, didn't charge excessive rent, could usually be counted on to reduce even that on production of a good sob story, had a relaxed attitude to poaching that drove his gamekeeper to apoplexy and best of all, he had all the Spark of a brick. Even so, it always made for an entertaining evening to see the Lord of the Manor get a good punch in the mouth and the domino players were in a jovial mode as they propped the Earl in the chair and went back to their game. One of them even bought a pint of ‘[Tom Long](http://www.stroudbrewery.co.uk/regular-beers/tom-long/)’ and left it on the table for him.

As Cedric concentrated all his efforts in remaining upright in a dignified manner, he became aware of a blurred white figure a few feet from his face and a soft, almost purring voice speaking with a distinct Europan accent.

“Now then, my Lord, we seem to have got off to a bad start, but let’s put all that behind us and start again shall we? No bad feelings hey? Look, here is your hat.” He was aware of his broad brimmed homburg being jammed down over his ears in a comical manner, “and here,” two small, hard, damp objects were pressed into his unresisting hand, “these are your teeth.” The room swam back into view and, to the Earl's considerable relief, stopped moving, although he was still convinced the floor had a definite slope that was not there when he arrived. The white blur resolved itself into the large white cat, standing on the table on its hind legs, making adjustments to the angle of his hat with paws that were more like hands. His sartorial adjustments completed, the cat leapt down onto a chair where he picked up a napkin and fastened it around his neck before drinking from a large saucer of milk, picking it up from the table with his 'hands' in an almost human fashion.

Across the table from Cedric sat the young woman in the green tweed dress, glaring at him in cold fury. She held a large wrench, which she tapped in her palm as though testing its weight. One part of his brain noted how pretty she was, despite the large round glasses she wore, and how the anger actually made her look rather cute. Another, more rational, part of his brain screamed at it to be quiet before they were both beaten to a pulp.

When the young woman spoke, her English had the merest hint of an Europan accent.

“Can you give me one reason why we should not just walk out of the door and go back to Mechanicsburg?” she asked. Cedric, still dazed, could not think of a single reason. Fortunately for him she was speaking to the cat, who counted the reasons off on his fingers.

“Well, one, there is something here that needs to be fixed and fixing things is what we do. Two, we've come all the way to Britain so we may as well at least hear what his highness here has got to say. Three, I haven't finished my cream and this is really good stuff. Most importantly, four, it is still raining hard out there and if we leave now I'll get wet.”

The neurons inside the Earl's head finally started to function in a rational manner.

“Mechanicsburg? You mean you are the Heterodyne, the person I came to meet tonight?” he asked the cat.

“No, I am Krosp I, Emperor of all Cats. Pleased to meet you. This is the Heterodyne. Agatha, Lady Heterodyne, daughter of William Heterodyne. Don't mention her mother.”

There was a sinking feeling inside the Earl's stomach as he saw that the annoyance on the girl’s face had ratcheted up another notch.

“Agatha Heterodyne? _The_ Agatha Heterodyne? You mean you are actually a real person? I...I mean... I am so, so sorry, your ladyship, I er... really meant no disrespect. You must think that I come from Nottingham. It's just that I was not expecting you to be....”

“Expecting what exactly?” interrupted Agatha Heterodyne, in a tone of voice that clearly indicated that the wrong answer would be met with immediate violence. The Earl's confused mind scrambled for a reply. The obvious ones such as 'A girl', 'Good looking', 'Wearing such a dowdy outfit' were rejected out of hand. Finally he settled for 'So grounded', which was also the truth after all. Agatha looked unconvinced, but she did at least put the wrench down on the table. Krosp filled the silence before it became uncomfortable.

“So, we understand that you have a little problem here. A little problem that you need fixing. Well, if anyone can fix it, we can, although after our last visit we are not exactly on speaking terms with the people in charge here, so we would appreciate a little discretion. So why not tell us what’s wrong? What is the worst that could happen?”

Cedric eyed the wrench. “I could die.”

Krosp shrugged. “Everybody dies. But don't worry. In Mechanicsburg most people soon get over it. We do a very nice range of bell jars to keep your head in.”

Agatha glared at Cedric.

“No-one, _no-one_ has _ever_ dared to do that to me. If you so much as touch me again I will recycle you. But Krosp is right; it is raining very hard out there and we have come a long way to meet you. Tell us your problem.”

The Earl settled into his chair and sipped his pint. There really didn't seem to be any alternative to ploughing on and hoping for the best. He took a deep breath and dived in.

“Well, you see it’s all about coal. Not something I ever thought about much myself really. Someone fills the coal scuttle up every morning and a maid comes and makes the fires up every now and then. And they burn it to keep all the steam engines going of course. Anyway, it turns out there is a whole lot of it under my estate and it’s worth a whole lot of money. I've always known there were caverns under the hill, but I never really thought they were any use except as rubbish tips, you know. My neighbour the Duke of Machen had this great idea that there might be something useful down there – he's a clever chap – and he had a mad- er, a gifted friend of his to have a look around and see what is what.”

“Well it turns out there is a lot of coal in my caverns and as it happens the Duke also has extensive holdings in South Wales –he’s from there originally you know - so he and his gifted friend know all about finding it and getting it out of the ground. They've been able to bring over a lot of miners from the Welsh fjords who’ve started digging a pit to get down there and open up the seam. Then we started running into a problem. Suddenly the miners started vanishing. Mining is a difficult and dangerous occupation of course, but these weren't normal accidents. Men were going down into the pit and simply – not coming back up again. And then people in the villages round here started complaining that someone was prowling around their villages at night, causing damage, attacking livestock. It could be gipsies – they're always a problem for a rural community – but there aren't any around at the moment that we know of. Anyway this wasn't their style. Things weren't being stolen, things were merely being destroyed and defaced for no good reason. I thought it might have been the miners – they are rough and boisterous crowd as you might expect – but some of the animal attacks, well, it looked as though it was done by something with teeth and claws.”

“Some kind of creature perhaps?”

“If it was, it was something that could walk on two legs and open gates.”

“A construct then?”

“Possibly.” Cedric was careful not to look in Krosp's direction. “But I'm afraid whatever it is, it has come from the pit that we have dug. We've delved too deep and too greedily and something has awoken that should have remained buried.”

Krosp lapped at his cream. “You said the miners are pretty tough. Why not just send them in to deal with it.”

“Ah, well the miners are a particular breed of men. They have very clear ideas about what their job description does and does not include. They have a very strong trade union and won't let anyone push them around.”

“I take it 'monster hunting' isn't something they do then.”

“Oh no. That would be encroaching on the trade of another union. They're very strong on what they call 'Demarcation'. They won't take someone else's job by doing it themselves.”

“How extremely – convenient – for them.”

“So why are you asking us to deal with it?” asked Agatha. “Queen Albia has a police force to keep order, not to mention the Peacekeepers and the Secret Service. Why not call them in to deal with any problems like this.”

“Um...” Cedric looked embarrassed.

“Because Albia doesn't know.” Krosp explained for him. “This is all a very unofficial operation, unless I'm much mistaken. No approval, no tax, no official tithe. It's all being done in secret isn't it? That's why you couldn't get the authorities involved and had to call in expert independent help.”

“Well, yes.” Cedric was still uncomfortable. “Of course I wanted to do everything by the book, but D’Arcy – that’s the Duke - insisted that all the environmental impact studies, the safety assessments, the licensing agreements, the public enquiries and whatever would cause years of delay and cost so much that it wouldn't really be worth doing. Once we'd dug a first exploratory pit and found if there really was any coal down there, then we could do it all officially when we could be sure of a return on our investment.”

Cedric took a drink from his pint to cover his embarrassment.

“Of course we are very much up in the dry here.” he continued. “Since the country was sunk, all the investment and all of the effort goes into the underwater cities and the submarine economy. We tend to get overlooked up here above the water, which means it’s difficult to raise money for new projects, but does also mean less official interest in what goes on, and that can cut both ways.”

“And why us as opposed to the hundreds of independent Sparks in Britain?” Agatha asked the Earl. Already the prospect of a new Adventure had overcome her anger.

“Well, who else to ask but the Heterodyne? I know that you will help us for your own sake.”

“Plus the fact that we don't actually charge for our services,” added Krosp. Also the fact we can be trusted not to muscle in and take over your operation.”

“Er... well of course I would be willing to, er, help with any expenses, but you will understand that my resources are somewhat...”

“Don't worry about it.” Agatha reassured him. “We don't charge for Saving the World. Or a little bug hunt.”

“So, what's the first step?” asked Krosp. “Can we come and see this pit and sort out your monster?”

“You should come and stay with me at Edgehill House.” replied Cedric. “It's only a little over a mile away. Perhaps best if you turn up independently as my guests if you don’t want to draw attention to yourselves. Perhaps an alias?”

“I suppose I could be Agatha Clay again. How about that?” suggested Agatha.

“Agatha Clay? That will be perfect!” exclaimed Cedric. “Tomorrow the Duke is holding an al fresco luncheon and that would be an excellent opportunity for you to meet him and his niece, who is the, er, gifted friend I was telling you about.”

“Niece? Oh, that will be …. nice.” said Agatha uncertainly.

Krosp kept silent as he picked up his saucer to lick up the last few drops of cream. In his experience, having another Spark in the team who wasn't a signed-up minion was asking for trouble. Another lady Spark sounded like a recipe for disaster.

“Do you have a carriage?” Cedric asked, finishing his pint. “I rode over here on horseback, but I can send the gig down to pick you up. How much luggage do you have?”

“Oh, I’ve just got an overnight bag with me at the moment.” Agatha indicated a carpet bag at her feet. “Just the essentials. A change of clothes, a sponge bag, a few tools and a small death ray. We flew over in an airship, took a pinnace down out of sight behind the hill and then walked over. Fortunately we just made it before the rain came down. I thought once we’ve settled in we can call up the main ship to drop off our main luggage and any equipment we might need at your house under the cover of darkness.”

“That would be perfect.” Cedric was starting to relax. “I trust you had an uneventful journey. No problems with border patrols?”

“No, we came the long way, flying down from the North. We were pretending to be a merchant ship from Tromsø. The shipping lanes are quieter and less patrolled up there.”

“Really? I'm surprised you didn't run into Jack Harrow, the dashing and romantic air pirate. I hear he is operating in that area at the moment.”

“Dashing and romantic? In Europa we have a zero tolerance approach to piracy.” said Agatha sternly. “I've had some bad experiences with pirate captains. Any pirate vessel that tries to interfere with one of my ships gets blasted from the sky without mercy.”

“Oh Jack is harmless”, laughed Cedric. “A flamboyant swashbuckler who never hurts anyone, well no-one much. Bit of a Lothario, devilishly handsome, likes to flirt with all the ladies in the ships he captures. Always insists on a kiss from the pretty ones, bit of a soft spot for orphans, never takes cargo from them. You'd be amazed by the number of merchant ships that turn out to be crewed entirely by orphans, ho ho. The papers are always full of his exploits. They say even the Queen is a fan. Why, he's almost a national institution!”

“Ah. A national institution you say?” asked Agatha uneasily. “He doesn’t happen to have a silver airship with a red stripe down the side by any chance?”

“Why yes, the Slack Furl. Reputedly the fastest, most elegant airship in Britain. Why do you ask?”

Agatha and Krosp exchanged a guilty look.

“Oh, no reason,” said Agatha, innocently. She changed the subject quickly. “Oh look, the rain has stopped and it looks like it’s going to be a lovely evening.” She consulted an elaborate, multi-dialled chronometer that hung by a chain from her tweed waistcoat. “There's at least an hour of daylight left and it's only a mile you say? I think it will be really good to enjoy the sunshine and walk over to your house.” Krosp gave her an evil look. “Now, Krosp, you are putting on far too much weight. Too much food and not enough exercise. The walk will do you good and you know it.” The cat looked unconvinced. “Now Cedric, where did you say your house was?”

“Turn left out of the door, go past the Church and down to the bottom of the Hill and you'll see the gates on your left. Then just follow the drive up the far side of the valley to the house. If you're sure you'd rather walk then I'll take the horse on ahead and make sure the servants have everything ready for you.”

They shook hands and Cedric left the Crown and Trumpet, relatively unscathed given the circumstances. It was only when he was half way back to his house that it struck him that there had been anything at all unusual about talking to a cat; Andy didn’t usually allow animals in the bar while food was being served. Back at the tavern, Agatha paid her bill and she and Krosp walked out into the perfection of an English summer evening, blissfully unaware of the ordeal that lay before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Crown and Trumpet](http://www.cotswoldholidays.co.uk/default.asp?ID=173&Page=Crown%20and%20Trumpet) is a real place and my favourite pub in all the world. The ['Tom Long'](http://www.stroudbrewery.co.uk/regular-beers/tom-long/) is particularly good. Well worth a visit if you are passing. Try and catch [Hot Fingers](http://www.hotfingers.co.uk/) on Thursday Jazz nights.


	2. The Long and Winding Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne discovers that the undergrowth, the plot and the Earl of Albemarle are all somewhat thicker than she had imagined._

Leaving the 'Crown and Trumpet', Agatha and Krosp turned left down the hill and admired the beautiful valley bathed in evening sunlight before them, the air cleared to crystal clarity by the summer storm. Well at least Agatha did. Krosp was still sulking at the prospect of another walk and when you are having to pretend to be a normal cat and walk on all fours, you don't get the same perspective as a human. They walked down the hill together and in at the open gate to Edgehill House. There was no-one on guard. Through a gap in the trees Agatha saw a fine country house half way up the far side of the valley, not too far away, the stone almost glowing in the sunshine. She lifted Krosp up to see it. Despite his ill-humour, he couldn't help but consider it from a tactical perspective.

“Now that house tells you everything you need to know about the difference between Europa and Britain.” he explained, unconsciously falling into his lecturer's voice. “Look at it. A fine, well-proportioned house made of Cotswold stone, with large glazed windows, doubtless with high-ceilinged, airy rooms filled with light, the whole thing set in beautiful landscaped gardens. Utterly hopeless.” Agatha was forced to agree.

“Yes, the whole thing is completely indefensible. It never occurred to whoever built that house that it would ever be attacked. The very concept of a neighbouring Spark or some wandering monster, let alone an enemy army, suddenly turning up on the front lawn is completely, well, foreign to them.  What an oppressive, tyrannical society they must have here. Albia has got things so locked down that Sparks aren’t allowed any creativity or independence at all. Their spirits must be completely crushed.” Spark and cat looked at each other and sadly shook their heads before they began the short walk up to the house.

It turned out to be not as short as they had anticipated. Not only had the architect of Edgehill House been more concerned with creating a beautiful and comfortable house than a proper defensible stronghold, he had also gone to great lengths to ensure that visitors were treated to a complete artistic experience as they arrived. Instead of leading straight to their destination the road snaked up the hill, right and then left, up and then down, lined by trees and bushes that hid the house. Every quarter of a mile or so an artistically positioned break in the shrubbery gave another beautiful view of a different aspect of the architect's masterpiece, perfectly framed by the infinite shades of green from the leaves. All very picturesque, but the day was starting to wane and they still didn't seem to be getting any closer to their destination. At one point they lost twenty minutes trying to make a direct line to the house through one of the open vistas, only to find the land descended into a hidden dip full of brambles, with a sudden sheer ten foot wall blocking their way. By the time they found their way back to the road again, Krosp, his fur covered in burrs, was starting to run out of patience.

“Why couldn't we have asked him to send a coach?” he yowled at Agatha. We could have been there an hour ago. He said it was only a mile!”

“Now Krosp, look on the bright side.” Agatha was determined to be optimistic. “We must be nearly there now. By arriving on foot we'll attract a lot less attention than if we had been seen in the Earl's carriage. And we'd have missed this beautiful evening and these wonderful views.” She looked around to admire the village across the valley behind them, where the setting sun was just about to vanish behind another enormous bank of dark and ominous storm clouds.

\--------------------------*

Two hours later Mr Hendon, the butler at Edgehill House, hurried to answer a loud banging at the front door.  The rain had returned with renewed vigour and the night was pitch dark. In the circle of light thrown by the two great lanterns that illuminated the large ornate front porch stood a dirty, bedraggled young woman with a large, sodden, unhappy cat. The butler sighed. Usually they have a dog. Just what he didn’t need when the Earl was expecting important visitors.

“Mendicants; tradesman's entrance,” he indicated with an impatient jerk of his thumb. The young woman scowled.

“I'm here as a guest of the Earl of Albemarle,” she snarled with barely controlled fury.

“Really?” The butler didn't try to disguise his sarcasm.

“Yes. The Earl of Albemarle. Tall fellow. Expensive waistcoat. Fancy moustache. Takes liberties with women. Missing a couple of front teeth.”

“But the Earl isn't missing any... oh.” The harmonics in her voice and the look in her eye spoke directly to survival instincts that had first evolved at about the time Mr Hendon's ancestors had developed limbs and lungs strong enough to enable them to flee screaming.

“Ah, of course, won't you please come in. Miss Clay I believe. My sincere apologies.”

The guests walked into the large ornate hall of the house, two stories tall and large enough to contain a small cottage. In front of them an elaborate carved wooden stair case led up to a landing that ran around three sides of the room.

The adrenaline and anger that had been keeping Agatha going through the long walk drained away now she had finally reached her destination, leaving her lost and exhausted. She stood in the middle of the tiled floor as the water from her sodden clothing gradually puddled at her feet, unsure where to go next, while the butler hovered, trying to herd her towards the main part of the house. Suddenly a door flew open and a tall middle-aged lady dressed in a long black skirt rushed into the room. Several young women in maid's uniforms followed in her wake, laden down with bundles of towels and blankets. The convoy bustled up to Agatha and the woman in black took charge.

“You must be Miss Clay. Oh my poor dear, we were expecting you hours ago. And the rain came back too. You must be soaking. Here, let's get you up to your room and out of those wet clothes. We've got nice warm fires going and a nice woolly dressing gown for you.  Mr Hendon, please get Roy to take Miss Clay's bags. She is staying in the Taupe Room. Jane, take those towels up to the guest bathroom and draw a large hot bath. Abigail, stoke up the fire in Miss Clay's room and warm her dressing gown. Kate, go down to the kitchen and tell Doe to send up a large mug of Horlicks in twenty minutes. Beryl, get a mop and dry the floor. Oh, and your poor little cat!”

With a single movement she took a towel from the nearest maid, swept it over Krosp and took him in her arms, enfolding him in the thick wool. Now normally Krosp doesn't take too kindly to being picked up without his permission, especially by strangers, but the woman in black was so fast he was cocooned before he could react. He made a feeble protest, but found his limbs were too well wrapped to deploy his claws and anyway, his loss of dignity was more than compensated by warmth of the towel as it soaked up the water from his fur. He found it difficult to resist the temptation to purr.

Cedric appeared on the landing, looking concerned. “Why L- er.. Miss Clay, you appear to be rather wet.” Agatha gave him an evil look and he lapsed into embarrassed silence as he hurried down the stairs to greet his guests.

“Let me guess,” said the woman in black indulgently. “He told you it would only be a mile from the pub? He always rides you see. Hopeless when it comes to estimating distance. Of course, you can walk here round by the back entrance in only thirty minutes but I don't suppose he thought to tell you about that. Typical man.” Cedric made vague conciliatory concerned noises in the background.

Agatha tried to keep her head clear amid the whirlwind of activity. “Thanks, yes, a hot bath and a fire sounds good, er... I think I'd rather keep that.” she said to the footman who came to take her carpet bag, not willing to let her death ray out of her sight while she was on unfamiliar ground.  “Sorry,” she said to the lady directing operations, “but who are you?” The woman in black gave her a big friendly smile.

“Why bless you dear. My name is Miss Gaunt. I'm the housekeeper here. I'm the one that looks after everyone, as opposed to my friend Mr Hendon here,” she indicated the butler, “who looks after everything. Now come along upstairs and let's get you out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia. Say goodnight to your guest my Lord. She's tired and what she needs now is a really good night's sleep.” Without further ado, Agatha, followed by Cedric's uncertain 'goodnight', was whisked up the stairs to a bath; a proper porcelain bath on ornate cast iron legs, full of hot water and plenty of soapy bubbles. She enjoyed a long, luxurious soak, letting the heat seep back into her cold bones and relax her stiff muscles. Once she was finally warm she reluctantly climbed out and used the entire pile of towels to get herself dry.

Soon she was curled up in a comfortable arm chair in her bedroom in front of a roaring fire, wrapped in a warm dressing gown that smelled slightly of lavender. One of the maids brought her a china mug of a rather strange but not unpleasant hot milky drink. As soon as she was sure her guests were comfortable, Miss Gaunt and her minions wished them a good night and withdrew. All the soaking clothes Agatha had been wearing were spirited away to the laundry, but the clean and dry outfit she had brought with her had been laid out for her ready for the next morning. She was starting to feel human again. Krosp, dried out and filled with chicken, was stretched out on the hearth like a rug, trying to get the maximum area of contact between his body and the warm tiles.

“Well, it's been an interesting day,” he ventured.

“Interesting enough,” replied Agatha sleepily. “I'm just about exhausted, but do you think it's safe here? I don't know this place or the people in it. Say what you like about Castle Heterodyne, but at least I can always sleep soundly, knowing it will be there to look out for me. Here, suddenly without it, I feel so vulnerable. I don't feel secure with those enormous windows. They aren't even armoured glass.”

Krosp shrugged. “Well, it's not as though you are going to be able to stay awake much longer. And you have me here to guard you.”

Agatha looked sceptical. “For the four hours of the day when you are actually awake you mean?”

“Hmph. Even when I'm asleep I'm more alert than most humans. It's a cat thing. If you're nervous then sleep with a wrench under your pillow. Are you worried about this monster that's crawled out of the pit to assault the local domestic animals? It doesn't sound all that much compared to our usual Adventures.”

“So, you think we can sleep the sleep of the just without fear of being attacked?” Agatha checked that her small death ray was safely within reach by the side of her chair.

“Well, if you must know, I'm not so worried about monsters. I'm more worried by the fact that our host slapped you on the butt.”

“Oh, do you think he might burst in and try to ravish me in the middle of the night?” asked Agatha. “I mean, if he tries anything like that, I'll knock the rest of his teeth out,” she added hurriedly, in case Krosp thought she had sounded altogether too enthusiastic at the prospect. “Perhaps I'd better lock the door.”

“You're missing the point. At the Crown and Trumpet he didn't recognise you. He didn't even know he was there to meet a woman. The first thing he said was that he was surprised the legendary Agatha Heterodyne was actually a real person.”

“Well, he doesn't strike me as being the sharpest spike in the Iron Maiden.”

“Definitely not. But the point is, we have been exchanging heliograph messages for the last fortnight with someone calling himself the Earl of Albemarle who has been addressing you as 'Lady Heterodyne'. Now, if he isn't the one we've been talking to, who did call us here?”

“Well, I'm guessing this Duke or his niece. I got the impression they are the main organisers behind the entire operation.”

Krosp wasn't convinced. “I suppose so, but he said his niece was a Spark. Under what circumstances would you ever consider calling in another Spark because you needed help?”

“Hm, good point. But then again, I’m The Heterodyne and she isn’t. I expect everything will be explained when we meet them tomorrow.”

Krosp was still far from happy. “There's something else too. When his Majesty the Earl was telling us about the coal under his hill, first he told us that Duke what's-his-name had said there was lots of coal down there. Then later on he said that they were putting down a shaft to see if there was coal there or not. So, how much coal is there really? Is he lying and not getting his story straight? I think there is something more going on here than a monster hunt.”

Agatha yawned and finished her bedtime drink. “I really have no idea and I'm just too tired to think about it. I'm dry, warm and very sleepy and I need some rest. We'll have to rely on Albia's secret police to keep us safe tonight.” She took off her dressing gown, put on the long linen night gown that had been laid out for her and climbed into the large four-poster bed. “Zeetha is back in Mechanicsburg, we've nothing to do until lunchtime and this bed is really warm and comfortable,” she said as she snuggled beneath the blankets. “At least I'll have the luxury of a nice long lie-in without being awakened by some awful commotion.”

After all her Adventures, Agatha Heterodyne really should have known better than to say things like that.


	3. Edgehill House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne gets a rude awakening, a good breakfast and a telling off_

Early next morning Agatha was enjoying a pleasant but slightly bizarre dream involving a torque wrench, a Venus fly trap and Gilgamesh Wulfenbach when she was woken up by Krosp bouncing up and down on her stomach.

“Hey, hey, Agatha, Agatha!” he yowled. Come and listen! Listen to this! Come on, come on!”

Behind the cat's excited exclamations Agatha became aware of an unpleasant wailing sound, rhythmic and almost, but not quite, musical. It sounded, tortured, appalling. Her first thought was that it must be some kind of alarm. It was certainly the perfect warning and accompaniment of some terrible emergency. Leaping out of bed she pulled on her dressing gown over her nightdress, grabbed her death ray, threw open the French windows, and rushed on to the balcony to meet the incoming attack. To her surprise there was no sign of flying constructs armed with disintegrators, an army of battle clanks on the lawn, a Skifandian with a big stick or any of the other annoyances that regularly disturbed her sleep in Castle Heterodyne. The house wasn't even on fire. Instead a large hairy man wearing a ridiculous tartan skirt that didn't cover his knees properly was walking up and down the terrace, wrestling with a strange multi-legged construct from which the hideous wailing emanated. Before Agatha could decide on whose side she should intervene another window was thrown open and a well-aimed boot thrown from it hit the man in the skirt squarely on the head. He didn't even flinch. The wailing stopped and now Agatha could see that what she had first thought was a strange cephalopod was in fact a tartan bag with a series of wooden tubes sticking out of it. The man had been making the wailing sound by blowing into the bag down one of the tubes and then manipulating another one to play the 'tune'.

“For God's sake MacLeod, will you stop doing that!” shouted Cedric's angry voice. Agatha looked round to see the Earl, still in his nightshirt, emerge onto a balcony a few windows along from hers.

MacLeod touched his forelock, gave the Earl a polite 'good morning' and walked away.

“Wasn't that simply the most beautiful thing you have ever heard in your life?” sighed Krosp. He lay on his back at Agatha’s feet and waved his legs in the air in delight.

“What on earth was that all about?” Agatha called across to Cedric. The Earl’s scowl was immediately replaced by his usual apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that Lady... er, Miss Clay. I'm afraid my head gamekeeper has this fixed idea that it is his duty to wake up the Squire every morning with the bagpipes.”

“Why? And why is he wearing a skirt?”

“It’s actually called a kilt. Look, it’s a long story and it doesn't reflect too well on the English. About 150 years ago an Italian adventurer tried to steal Albia's throne. His plan was to use Scotland as a base and he promised the Scots their independence if they supported him. He also promised an army from France but he turned up at the muster of the Scottish chiefs with six men and a rowing boat. Most of the clan lords went home in disgust, but he persuaded a few to follow him by inviting them to a big party and drinking them all under the table. That goes down really well up there. Anyway he won a few battles, but as he advanced south into England it was pretty obvious that he had no support from the English while the Scots soon realised that he was after Albia's throne and didn't give a tinker's curse about them or their independence. Anyway his army ended up retreating all the way back to Scotland where it was comprehensively crushed by Albia's forces, mostly composed of Scots who were suddenly incredibly keen to show how loyal they were.”

“So, what's that got to do with bagpipes and wearing skirts?”

“Well, Albia's army was commanded by the Duke of Cumberland. After the rebellion was crushed he came down on the Scots pretty hard, including forbidding the playing of bagpipes and the wearing of kilts throughout Scotland.”

“Ah, because they were symbols of Scottish national identity.”

“Oh no, bagpipes and kilts were completely unknown in Scotland before the rebellion. Of course, after they were banned by the English, the Scots made a solemn vow that henceforth they would play the bagpipes and wear kilts at every possible opportunity. And so, the Duke of Cumberland, a cruel and vindictive man, condemned the Scots to an eternity of walking around with no trousers on while listening to awful music.”

“The swine. No wonder MacLeod makes a point of waking you up every morning.”

“Yes, the English are still paying for their past sins.”

“What happened to the Italian adventurer?”

“Oh, he fled to Europa dressed in ladies' clothes, never to return.”

“Ladies' clothes?”

Cedric shrugged. “It’s the traditional disguise for defeated enemies of the Queen. Anyway, it is time I dressed – not in ladies' clothes I hasten to add. I shall see you in the breakfast room.”

As Agatha went back into her bedroom, there was a discrete knock on the door and a maid came in with the hot water. Twenty minutes later Agatha was washed, brushed, dressed and ready to face the horrors of breakfast in a foreign land. Cedric was already waiting for her in the breakfast room. She was surprised to find three places set at the breakfast table; two with normal chairs and a child's high chair for Krosp.

“Don't you want to keep things undercover?” she asked Cedric. “Should we keep pretending that Krosp is a normal cat in front of the servants?”

“Oh, no need for that,” he reassured her. “All the servants can be relied on absolutely. Anyway, we would never be able to keep a secret like that from below stairs. They all know they are playing host to a Spark from abroad and her talking cat. Their families have been serving mine for generations and you can be sure that they will keep our secrets. When we go over to the garden party for luncheon we'll have to be more discrete and then I'm afraid Herr Krosp will have to pretend to be a normal cat.”

“So, all the servants are old family retainers?”

“Oh yes. Well, everyone except Miss Gaunt of course. My old housekeeper Miss Dunn was unexpectedly left a large legacy and a cottage up in the Lake District – below the water line too - so she was able to retire up there. Miss Gaunt is her replacement and has only been here a month or so.”

“And is she reliable?”

“Oh yes, she was recommended by Miss Dunn, who frankly was getting ready to retire anyway. You needn't worry at all on her account. You've no idea how much she has improved things since she's been here. She's organised everything and got all the staff under her thumb. Everything's running so much better.” As if to prove the point three maids began to bring in the serving dishes for breakfast, while Hendon and a couple of footmen appeared to serve the food.

Breakfast was not as bad as Agatha had feared. Her experiences from her previous trip helped of course, so she already knew what was in the black pudding and to decline the peculiar British sausages that don't actually contain any meat. However, the bacon, mushrooms, fried bread tomatoes and eggs that make up a proper breakfast were all cooked to perfection and Agatha tucked in with relish. The coffee was, of course, pretty awful but the tea was excellent. Really excellent. Agatha couldn't help commenting on the fact to Cedric.

“Yes, it's odd,” he admitted. “We don't seem to have the knack of making decent coffee in Britain, but on the other hand it's almost impossible to get a decent cup of tea on the Continent. When I do go abroad and am so looking forward to a really good cup of coffee, they always say 'Ah, English! Have some tea! We make it especially for you!' The last time I was out there my hosts had this wonderful tea pot, a perfect glass hemisphere in a stainless steel metal frame, with a tiny little candle under the pot. Trouble was, the tea was lukewarm and tasted of mint and old rubber; utterly disgusting. I had to drink two cups of it and tell them how much I liked it, while all the time they were drinking this really great coffee. Anyway, I'm not going to do the same to you. Ignore the coffee and stick to the proper tea.” Agatha took his advice and did not regret it.

“One thing that's puzzled me,” asked Agatha as she poured her second cup. “Last night in the tavern when you were apologising you said we must think you came from Nottingham. I haven't heard that expression before.”

“Coming from Nottingham?” Cedric thought. “Oh that's just one of those things people say, like being sent to Coventry means you've been ostracised from society and no-one will talk to you. If you say someone must be from Nottingham, it means they've been really rude, selfish or anti-social. I'm not sure why, exactly. If I had to guess, I suppose the town is associated with a notorious bandit and terrorist called Robin Hood. There's lots of stories about how he and his band of Murdering Men went round killing people, stealing all their belongings and generally blighting the lives of everyone they came into contact with. I used to love reading them as a boy and how the Hood’s Evil plans would always be foiled by the heroic Sheriff of Nottingham and his Head Minion Sir Guy of Gisborne. Actually, I think the latest theory is that Robin Hood wasn't a real person, or at least that most of the stories are made up by Walter Scott. You know, the man who invented Scotland. Shame really.”

“So the people from Nottingham aren't especially rude then?”

“Oh no, not particularly. They do have a habit of jumping queues though, the blighters.”

“So,” Agatha asked, “what's the plan? Shall we go and have a look at this pit of yours?” Cedric considered.

“It's probably best if you meet up with D’Arcy, that’s Lord Machen, first so we can all get introduced. The luncheon party he is organising for his circle of close friends today will be an excellent chance to meet him and his niece, Llithrig Yr Wrach, the talented Spark who is organising the new coal mine. Then we can have a private talk and arrange a plan of campaign afterwards. They know who you are of course, but we'll need to keep it a secret from everyone else. I will introduce you as my niece from Romania.”

Agatha frowned. “They won't think it odd that a relative from Europa whom you've never mentioned before suddenly appears? And do you have to mention Romania? We don't want people putting two and two together and perhaps thinking of Transylvania and Mechanicsburg.”

Cedric looked slightly embarrassed. “N-o, I don't think that will be a problem. No-one will be ill-bred enough to ask about your background if you don't raise the subject. And don't worry about mentioning Romania. This is Britain. Most people won't even know that Transylvania is in Romania, let alone where Mechanicsburg is. Half of them probably think it isn't even a real place.”

“Oh, right.” Agatha was vaguely annoyed. For her Mechanicsburg was the centre of the Universe  and she was having difficulty appreciating that some people might not even be able to place it on a map of Europa. “That sounds like a good plan. My airship is docked at the mooring towers over on Fish Hill. I've sent a message to them this morning and they'll be able to take off under cover of darkness tonight for some 'night flying trials' and drop in all my equipment without anyone knowing, so we can be properly equipped for an exploration tomorrow.”

“Good show,” agreed Cedric. “There's an old barn on the other side of the wood where you can set up shop out of everyone's way.”

“So, can you give me a bit more information about your enterprise?” Krosp asked. Cedric looked vaguely embarrassed.

“The technical details aren't my strong point I'm afraid, but the idea is to sink a mine shaft down from the caverns beneath the Hill behind us; that's my land by the way. D'Arcy and Ms Yr Wrach are doing all the organising. All the miners are based at Wamblecropt farm in a little valley tucked out of the way, right on the edge of my land that has the caverns on it, but actually part of the Duke's estate. They are digging a connecting tunnel from there to my caverns. As I said, we need to keep a low profile and that's a convenient place to keep them out of sight and they can move between the caverns and the farm without drawing attention to themselves using the new tunnel.”

“How many miners are there?” Krosp enquired.

“About two hundred. Should be enough for all our needs. It's good of D'Arcy to feed and water them without asking for any contribution from me.”

“Can we trust the people living on the farm?” Agatha asked.

“Oh no need to worry on that account. The Wellesleys, that's the family who were living there, tenants of the Duke for years and years, upped sticks about 6 weeks ago and vanished in the middle of the night without paying the rent. They must have decided they'd had enough and did a moonlight flit. They'd always seemed decent enough sorts to me, but just goes to show that you never can tell, hey? Anyway, it meant the farm was conveniently free when we needed it, so it was the obvious place to put up the miners.”

“Are there workshops or laboratories there?” said Agatha.

“Llithrig, I mean Ms Yr Wrach, has set up a Secret Laboratory in the basement of Beaufort Palace – that’s D’Arcy’s place,” Cedric told her. “She creates wonderful machines to help the mining operation and also has a medical lab to treat the miners when they are injured. I'm sure you'll want to meet her and see all her marvellous inventions. You'll have so much in common. Naturally, she stays at Beaufort Palace as a guest of the Duke.”

“And how much coal is there in the seam?” Krosp asked casually.

“Oh, I'm not sure. D'Arcy is the expert. He was pretty sure we will find an awful lot down there, but of course we can't be sure until we look.”

“So you haven't definitely found any yet?”

“Oh no, it's still early days yet. They've done a few exploratory surveys of my caverns and they're still in the process of building the connecting tunnel. Of course, mining is a very hazardous operation so they have to proceed extremely carefully.”

'So, no deep shafts or major excavations in the existing caverns yet' thought Krosp to himself. 'In that case, what has stirred up this monster I wonder?', but he kept his thoughts to himself.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour.

“As the garden party isn't until lunch time, we have some free time this morning,” Cedric told them as the breakfast things were cleared away. “Perhaps you would like to look round the garden? There is a very good maze. I'll bet it's the sort of thing you'll find absolutely fascinating.” Agatha and Krosp scowled at him.

“We know.” Agatha told him coldly. “We found it last night, just as the rain really started.”

“It's actually very clever,” chortled Cedric. “The entrance is deliberately made to look like the way to the house as you come to the end of the drive, so unwary visitors wander into it instead of arriving at the front door. One of the landscape architect's little jokes.”

 The temperature of Agatha's voice dropped below freezing. “We know. It took us over an hour to get out.”

“Because someone was adamant that you can always get out of a maze by following one wall,” muttered Krosp grumpily.

“Oh, it's really cleverly designed so that doesn't work...” continued Cedric obliviously.

“We. Know,” Agatha interrupted, glaring at him.

Cedric finally caught up. “Ah, right, so not the maze then. Perhaps a tour of the house?”

“Yes, I think we have had quite enough of the great outdoors for the time being, thank you very much,” Agatha told him.

Edgehill House, as Agatha and Krosp had surmised from their initial glimpse of it the previous evening, turned out to be completely hopeless. The rooms were all high ceilinged, with enormous windows with light, easily breakable wooden frames, thin glass and appalling fields of fire. All of the internal doors where delicate carved and polished wood that would not withstand a minute of determined attack. Every room had large open fireplaces connected to the tall and elegant chimneys on the roof that provided yet another route in for any invader. The beautiful landscaped gardens provided far too much cover for any attackers but yet still had large inviting open spaces for an invading army to land.

Perhaps worst of all in Agatha's eyes, everything was exactly as it appeared. The tasteful Italian statues of bathing ladies on the lawn were mere lumps of marble completely unable to spring to the defence of the house. The intricate carved scrollwork on the ceilings did not conceal death rays, falling block traps or even hidden cameras. The wooden floor was solid oak without any hidden pits. Not only was Edgehill House indefensible, it couldn't even defend itself. Still, Agatha had to admit, it was light, spacious and comfortable with beautiful interior design. The views were magnificent, even if they didn't have mountains. All in all, it was a wonderful place to live.

They walked through into one of the main rooms, charmingly decorated, enormous but rather empty, usually reserved for entertaining visitors. The walls were hung with portraits of Cedric's ancestors. He showed Agatha and Krosp the first Earl, ennobled after heroic deeds at the Battle of Poitiers. Several other ancestors had been soldiers in some shape or form, but there were also lawyers, politicians and at least one bishop, in the odd vestments of the Church of England. All looked haughty and aloof. Agatha could imagine them staring down at her from the back of a horse as though she were some lower form of life. Even Cedric's father had that look. Agatha found herself comparing the portraits to her own gallery of ancestors in Castle Heterodyne. There was that same arrogance and overbearing confidence, the unquestioned belief that they were more important and more worthy than the little people, but the difference was, none of Cedric's ancestors had that maniacal look in the eye, that insane grin, that trace of spittle at the corner of the mouth; none of them had been Sparks. Then she looked at the portrait of Cedric's mother and saw a warm and open friendly smile, without any trace of superiority at all. It suddenly occurred to her that Cedric didn't have the ‘aristocratic’ expression either. Normally, he alternated between a rather amiable, puzzled frown and a sudden rueful grin.

Agatha was taken by a large picture of a pretty young woman hanging in pride of place over the fireplace. Unlike most of pictures in the house, this was in the modern style and obviously new. To Agatha's eyes she looked partially clothed, but she knew that this was the way that ladies dressed in Britain.

“This is really rather good.” she said to Cedric. “Is it your sister? I can see a family resemblance.”

“Yes,” replied Cedric sadly. “Her name is Hyacinth. She was on the _Titan_ you know.”

“Oh Cedric, I'm so sorry,” said Agatha, laying a comforting hand on his arm. The tragic wreck of the _Titan_ three years before was notorious throughout Europa. Supposedly undeflatable, the giant luxury passenger airship had succumbed to a freak accident with great loss of life.

“Oh, she survived as it happens. She was travelling with her fiancé, Baron Toxteth, who between you, me and the doorpost is a bit of an all-round bad egg. As soon as the order was given to abandon ship he got on one of the first lifeboats, leaving her to fend for herself, the blighter. Fortunately she had already taken up with a penniless Irish painter she had met on board and together they managed to make a daring and improbable escape at the last minute. As you can imagine the engagement with the Baron was broken off pretty damned quick and she married this artist fellow soon afterwards. He painted that picture. I'm told he's quite talented. Handsome too.”

“Oh, so everything worked out happily then?”

“Hardly. This artist fellow drinks all the money he makes that he doesn't gamble away, runs around with other women at every opportunity then comes home drunk and beats seven bells out of my sister. She's living in half-starved poverty over in Ireland somewhere. It’s difficult to keep track because they have to keep moving all the time to avoid the bailiffs. I try to get her to come home here, but she still loves him and stands by him.” He sighed. “You know, I sometimes wish that he hadn't been saved at the last minute. That way Hyacinth would have had the dream of him for the rest of her life, without having to endure the reality. She might have had a broken heart, but that would have been better than the broken ribs.” He shook his head sadly. “I'm sure her heart would have gone on.”

The one thing missing from the portrait gallery was a formal painting of the current Earl of Albemarle. There were however plenty of pictures of him; not portraits but the new photographs, pictographs and daguerreotypes, hung not in the gallery but in a smaller room that looked as though it was actually lived in. There was Cedric in a rugby team, Captain of Eton, Cedric being presented with a trophy for marksmanship, Cedric winning his Oxford Blue, rowing at number 5 in the University airboat race. In his risqué British sporting costumes, Agatha couldn't help but notice that the Earl had well-developed musculature and was in fact quite handsome. She became aware that she was still holding Cedric's arm and the muscle tone beneath his sleeve felt rather... She unobtrusively but hurriedly moved away from him to admire a series of pictures of the Earl on horseback, hunting.

Deer and boar hunting were popular pastimes in Transylvania, although it was never something that Agatha had been particularly interested in herself. The bright red coat that Cedric was wearing in the picture didn't seem at all practical for stalking while the hounds milling around the horses' feet didn't really look big enough to bring down a stag or a boar. It turned out that the quarry of the hunt was, in fact, a fox, which puzzled her somewhat as there is so little meat on a fox that it hardly seemed worth catching, but she listened politely as Cedric rambled on about his most exciting chases and pursuits, while in her head she worked on an idea to improve the whole process.

Agatha's interest increased when they moved on to the gun room. Now at least she thought, we will see what kind of offensive weapons Cedric has available. Alas, she was disappointed to find a room full of ornate shotguns, used for shooting game. The Earl explained how the hunters – the 'guns' – each stood at a set position in a field while a group of minions – he called them 'beaters' – walked through the undergrowth to drive pheasants, partridges or grouse into the air into the range of their weapons. She examined a double-barrelled shotgun critically.

“You know, this is really rather primitive. Is it an antique? I mean look at it! It only has two barrels – two shots and then you have to manually breech load two more shells before you can fire again, by which time all the pheasants will have flown away. Give me a few hours and I'm sure I could improve it for you - a 100-round magazine, a clockwork autoloader, perhaps a gyroscopic stabilised predictive sight slaved to the trigger. I can make this fire at 60 rounds a minute. And you know, I could put a secondary charge in each shell with a proximity fuse to explode in mid-air and give a much larger blast radius. You could fill the sky with shot and shoot all the pheasants in one go!”

Cedric snatched the gun away from her angrily. “Please! L- Ms Clay! How dare you!”

Agatha looked at him in shocked and hurt surprise. Cedric saw her expression and checked his displeasure.

“I'm sorry, of course, you aren't British and don't understand these things. This is a Steed shot gun, made by the finest gun-makers in Britain and that means the World. It is a precision instrument and is not subject to 'improvement'.” Reverently he put the gun back in its rack. “When one is shooting for sport there is a certain way of doing things. When the beaters send the pheasants over, one has two shots, perhaps four if you are lucky and can get your second gun quickly enough. No more. That is why it is 'sport'. The whole idea is that it is difficult! Magazines and autoloaders and sights are – well they are just not done, do you understand! Now I'll be obliged if you do not mention such things again!”

“I'm, I'm sorry.” said Agatha, chastened by her dressing down. “I was only trying to help.” The frown left Cedric's face.

“And I am sorry if I spoke strongly, but such things are completely beyond the pale! Next you will be suggesting that I use over-and-under barrels.” He shuddered at the thought. Agatha decided that now would not be the time to tell him about the horse-mounted fox-seeking guided missile she had been designing in her head.

Krosp smoothed over the awkwardness by admiring a fine pistol in an ornate case illuminated by its own lamp with a prominent lampshade, displayed with several small silver trophies. It looked the only weapon that might be at all effective against a real monster. Cedric explained that it was a genuine Chekhov, made by the master Russian émigré gunsmith, now working in Birmingham. He couldn't hide the pride in his voice as he explained how he had won the trophies at Eton and Oxford for his pistol shooting. The unpleasant incident with the shotgun was soon forgotten.

They ended up in the Morning Room, where Cedric rang for tea. He made sure to explain to the footman that although, yes, the guests were From Abroad, they would in fact prefer tea and not coffee even though this was what they usually drank at home. He even remembered to ask for an extra saucer and jug of cream for Krosp.

“So,” Agatha asked, as she sipped her Darjeeling, “tell us about your partners in this escapade. The Duke of Machen I think you said, and his niece, Llithrig Yr Wrach was it?”

“Sorry? Oh right, our partners! Of course,” exclaimed Cedric, startled out of an ungentlemanly private speculation as to whether it would be possible to set his tea cup and saucer down on Agatha’s bust. “Really, they are good, honest people.” he assured them. “You will get on with them really well. D'Arcy, is an old school aristocrat. Well above me in the scheme of things of course, and much richer. It's good of him to provide all of the funding for this enterprise.”

Krosp, who had been wondering if the mining scheme could all be an elaborate swindle to defraud the Earl, made a mental note. “I suppose his ancestor was awarded the Dukedom for heroism in defence of Albia's throne too?” he asked, genuinely interested in the military history.

“Oh no, I think the first Duke was the child of one of Albia's sons.”

“Oh, so he's minor royalty then?”

“Not as such, no. The first Duke’s mother was a Welsh actress who caught the Prince's eye. You know how it is. So, of the royal blood but not of the royal line if you get my meaning. Anyway, D'Arcy is rather active in politics. Very keen on all things Welsh and making sure that they get their fair share of funding and representation from London. He's very good at it. An expert in the Welsh language too.”

“And what about his niece?” Agatha asked. Cedric blushed bright red and suddenly started talking at double speed with a voice full of enthusiasm.

“Llithrig? Oh, you'll really like her! She's so charming and clever and graceful and perceptive. She's the one with the technical knowledge behind all this you know. Astonishing that such a sweet, delicate girl should be so interested in mining. Amazing don't you think? And she is so graceful when she moves and she's always wears the most beautiful and fashionable clothes.” He chattered on about the virtues of the lady Spark, his face flushed with enthusiasm, more animated than they had ever seen him.

Agatha and Krosp exchanged a glance. They had been working together for so long that this was often all they needed to share a thought. In this case the shared thought was 'oh dear'. The Adventure had just become even more complicated.


	4. Beaufort Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne discovers that every prospect pleases._

The storms of the night had cleared away to leave a beautiful summer's day so they drove to Beaufort Palace in Cedric's best open carriage, a simple construction of wood and brass pulled by two ordinary live horses. Agatha found it a novel experience; horse-drawn transport did not feature strongly in her stables in Mechanicsburg. Not only do horses need more maintenance and are messier to fix than clanks, they also have a habit of indulging in embarrassing biological functions at inopportune moments. Anyway, if you are going to have an animal pull your coach, you might at least upgrade its brain so it can understand your instructions. Agatha spent the trip deciding on how best to modify the horses' anatomy in order to mount the fox-seeking missiles. Against her better judgement she had been persuaded to leave her death-ray and most of her tools behind, although she had brought along a few of her little clanks, discreetly stowed away in various pockets of her dress.

They arrived at the gates of the Duke of Machen's estate a little after noon. The grounds were extensive and obviously landscaped. It took an awfully long time to get from the gatehouse to Beaufort Palace, not because of a cleverly designed artistic serpentine drive like that of Edgehill House, but simply because it was a long way. This drive was straight with the wonderful views unobstructed in order to emphasise exactly how big this estate really was. When it finally came into view, Beaufort Palace was enormous; one of its wings was larger than Edgehill House. It was made of white Portland stone in the imposing Palladian style with many pillars and carvings; a palace rather than a house. Perhaps it was not quite on the scale of Castle Heterodyne, but then again, as Cedric explained, this was only one of the Duke of Machen's many residences, little more than his country cottage really. Machen Castle, his main house beneath the water in the shadow of the mighty crags of Mynydd Machen, was really something.

The coach drove around the curved drive in front of the house and deposited its passengers at the foot of the enormous stone staircase that led up to the impressive main doors. There were plenty of minions – no, servants Agatha reminded herself – to usher them into the house. The entrance hall was vast with intricate painted ceilings and ornate plaster mouldings. The Duke's ancestors sneered down from their portraits on the wall. Although most of the paintings looked to be no more than two hundred years old there was one large and over-dramatic painting of a medieval knight in full armour wielding a broadsword with the fire and chaos of a battle behind him. A large red dragon was painted on his shield.

Agatha found herself comparing the Palace to Edgehill House. Superficially everything was the same; the large and impressive reception hall with an ornate staircase, the servants greeting the guests and seeing to their needs. On closer inspection, there were differences. The hall at Edgehill House was there to receive guests and their baggage, the servants were there to help and welcome. At Beaufort Palace everything was grander, larger and somehow much less welcoming. She couldn't shake off the impression that all this was not here to greet her, but to impress her. The servants were more formal, better turned out, more polished, more impersonal. They made it quite clear how privileged she was to be a guest at Beaufort Palace. They were there to meet her every need, but somehow she felt they would have been offended if she had the temerity to actually ask them for anything. Krosp, of course walked into the Palace as though he owned it and didn't feel at all intimidated. He was not pleased to have to leave his coat behind and walk on all fours and even worse, not be allowed to talk to anyone. 

They were ushered through the hall and into another equally large room beyond, which apparently had no purpose other than to provide a canvas for another superb Baroque painted ceiling of generously-proportioned ladies in need of more clothing and a display space for a tasteful collection of genuine Renaissance Italian marble sculptures. On the far side of the room expansive French Windows were open and led out to the perfect lawn behind the house, where guests were standing around tables full of food, their plates being filled by servants. More servants circulated with trays of drinks, their movements so smooth and precise that they might have been clockwork clanks.

As she walked out of the house Agatha couldn't repress a gasp of wonder at the formal gardens that stretched beyond the lawns. Owing to the nature of its geography, climate and politics, gardening on a grand scale was not really practical in Transylvania. In England it was possible to lay out and lovingly maintain a garden over generations. Here beautiful rose beds were arrayed in perfect geometrical precision between strips of lawn with millimetre-perfect straight edges. Here box hedges were cut over decades of dedication into intricate shapes. Here flower beds were full of a well-mannered riot of blooming annuals, each plant carefully positioned, each trimmed to perfect shape without a weed or a dead head anywhere. In the summer sunshine it looked like a gardener's heaven.

“Look, there's the Duke,” Cedric said, breaking in on her admiration. Agatha was surprised to see that the Duke was a short, middle-aged, pudgy man, almost completely bald but with the remnants of black hair still clinging to the sides and back of his head. Somehow she had imagined that he would be more imposing and aristocratic. He glanced over to Cedric and Agatha and then pointedly turned back to continue his conversation with a man in clerical robes. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed. “He'll come over and talk to us in a minute,” he assured them.

It actually took the Duke several minutes to condescend to greet his neighbour and his niece. During this time, Cedric and Agatha were left to wait uneasily, unable to start on the food and drink or talk to the other guests until they had been welcomed by their host, but unable to approach him either. When he did walk over he was smiling but it was a smile that did not extend to his eyes. Rather it was the smile of someone who is playing a secret joke on you. The smile of someone who has some power or secret knowledge that he knows he can use against you, but that you don't know about. The smile of someone who knows he can cause you pain and trouble and there is nothing you can do about it. The smile of someone who gets pleasure out of watching others struggle though the all the problems he has caused them.

“Cedric,” he shook hands. “Are you going to introduce me to your charming companion?” If Cedric was feeling at all offended then he did not show it. He greeted the Duke like an old friend.

“Ah, D'Arcy, good to see you! May I present my, er, niece, Miss Agatha Clay from Romania.” The Duke bent and kissed Agatha's hand, spending perhaps a little longer on the kiss than was strictly necessary and giving her just the hint of a lecherous leer as he made eye contact when he straightened up. “I am so glad that you have been able to come from so far away to visit us, Miss Clay. I am looking forward to having a long talk with you once the party is over. In the meantime, please, help yourself to food and wine.” As the Duke turned to indicate the tables of food, Agatha surreptitiously wiped her hand on the back of her skirt. The Duke started chatting to Cedric about pheasants. Agatha accepted a plate from a servant and then moved along the tables, collecting a variety of sandwiches, avoiding the sausage rolls but selecting a small unfamiliar pie that turned out to be extremely tasty.

“You are missing something very, very important,” whispered Krosp at her feet.

“What? Where?” said Agatha, looking round alarmed, scanning the guests for possible threats. Although she had been taking lessons from Tarvek, she did not enjoy intrigue.

“There's chicken,” Krosp hissed. “I can smell roast chicken somewhere and you missed it. Make sure you get me some.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Agatha found the table with the plate of chicken, caught the eye of a servant and made sure she got a double portion. She even decided to risk a small glass of sweet white wine, although when she asked for Liebfraumilch the servant almost sneered at her. Agatha had no idea why. 

The gifted are known for their big appetites – the Spark needs a lot of fuel – and Agatha was soon concentrating on the large pile of food on her plate, but struggling with the age old question faced by guests at buffets through the ages; how to hold a plate and a glass of wine and still keep a hand free to eat their food. She had come up with a solution some time before after one of her evening soirées in Mechanicsburg, but it wasn't very practical; there just wouldn't be enough time to make such radical alterations to all the guests, and anyway, where would she get all those octopi? Moloch von Zinzer's suggestion of a small metal bracket that attached to the side of the plate to which a wine glass could be clipped was of course met with cold hostility by every Spark in Castle Heterodyne and he never mentioned it again. Seeing that the Duke had moved on to circulate among his guests, Agatha came up with an ingenious temporary fix by re-joining Cedric and getting him to hold her wine glass while she ate.

“This food is really good,” she told him. “I've always been told that British food is awful, but this tastes great!”

“Ah, that's just propaganda spread by the French,” the Earl replied. “They always smother their food in some kind of sauce or other, so they sneer at our cuisine because we serve it plain. I mean, God forbid that a piece of beef should actually taste of beef! The reason is of course that the actual food produced in France is of much inferior quality so they have to disguise the taste with something else. In Britain our food actually tastes so good you don't need all that foreign stuff.” Agatha, who had been the guest of the Master of Paris, a man who took his food very seriously indeed, was not entirely convinced, but the small pie with a hard crust that she was eating did taste particularly delicious.

“So, what is this exactly?” she asked Cedric.

“Oh that's a pork pie. They're very good aren’t they?”

“Oh yes! How is it made?”

“Basically, it's made from all the parts of the pig that you wouldn't eat unless you ground it up and put it in a pork pie,” Cedric explained. Agatha looked at the half-eaten pie dubiously, then discreetly put it back on her plate and started on a prawn sandwich instead.

As she ate, Agatha took the opportunity to assess the other guests, mostly neighbouring gentry and local notables who had been granted the privilege of attending a garden party hosted by the Duke of Machen. The first thing that struck her was that although the men were formally attired, the women were, in her opinion, scandalously dressed. Admittedly it was a warm summer's day and Agatha was rather hot in the ankle length tweed dress, matching jacket and waistcoat, blouse, leather bodice, thick linen underwear, striped wool stockings and sensible outdoor shoes of a respectable Europan young lady, but walking around in mixed company with your knees showing? Agatha knew she would never be able to do that. There also seemed to be an awful lot of young women but very few young men. In fact, Cedric was one of the youngest men present. She thought that she saw more than one of the young women casting predatory looks in his direction. For a moment she felt rather smug that her escort was the best looking gentleman present.

Cedric pointed out some of the more notable guests; the doctor and his niece, the solicitor and his niece, the rector and his niece (who seemed to be rather nervous because she was hanging on to her uncle rather tightly) and the local magistrate and his niece (who seemed to be having trouble eating because her uncle was feeding her from his plate). Just as Agatha was about to ask if none of the men had children of their own, Cedric's head suddenly rotated like a machine cannon turret locking on to a target and his eyes fixed on something over Agatha's left shoulder. His face lit up with pleasure and he waved to someone across the lawn.

“Look Miss Clay! There's Llith..  er... Miss Yr Wrach, D'Arcy's talented niece. Ah excellent, she's seen us. Come on! I'll introduce you!”

The woman who had just stepped onto the lawn from the house was tall, slender and beautiful. If anything she was wearing rather more than most of the other young women, but somehow she it made her look more alluring, as though she was wearing rather less. She moved towards them with conscious grace. When Agatha walked, she simply walked. Llithrig Yr Wrach walked slowly and with care as though every movement had been planned in advance, as though she was considering every angle from which her body could be viewed and was posing her limbs to their best advantage, carefully placing one foot directly in front of the other to emphasise the curve of her hips. Her face was flawless classical beauty, her blonde hair carefully styled. She wore understated but obviously highly expensive jewellery and, in contrast to Agatha's sensible outdoor shoes she wore impractical high heels that only enhanced the grace of her movements and the curve of her legs. For no reason that she could immediately analyse, Agatha took an immediate dislike to Llithrig Yr Wrach. 'It must be because I know she's a Spark,' she told herself, 'but I've got to stay rational and work with her to fix the monster problem'. Looking round, she was aware that all the other guests had stopped to watch the Duke’s niece too, the men looking in discreet (and in some cases not so discreet) admiration, the women glaring.

Llithrig made a direct line for Cedric, making eye contact with him that he found difficult to meet.

“Er... Miss Yr Wrach,” he began uncertainly, “may I present...”

“Oh, Cedric,” said Llithrig, her voice full of concern, completely ignoring Agatha, “whatever has happened to your poor face?” She stood very close to the Earl and took his face in her hand, stroking his cheek as she examined the new gaps in his teeth and the bruising around his mouth. “Oh you poor thing, whatever happened? Were you attacked?” Cedric turned bright red.

“Got a hoof in the mouth,” he managed to mutter while Llithrig made sympathetic cooing noises. “Nothing too serious, have to get the dentist to have a look at it don't you know, er...” He remembered that the real reason for his missing teeth was standing next to him and looking as if she were rapidly running out of patience. He reluctantly took a step back.

“So, er, Miss Yr Wrach. May I present my niece, Miss Agatha Clay from Romania.” Ignoring Agatha's greeting and outstretched hand, Llithrig walked around her as though she were an examining an exhibit at a museum.

“My dear, who _is_ your dressmaker?” she finally asked.

“Why?” replied Agatha, puzzled.

“Oh, that was my next question,” Llithrig continued. “Of course, I have _so_ much trouble with _my_ clothes. Whenever I find something that's good enough to show off my figure I can never find anything that fits. All the clothes in the shops are simply too large. Of course, I get my clothes handmade most of the time anyway. I deserve it don't you think.” She adopted an ‘artistic’ pose that showed her long and slender body off to best advantage. “You should really get your 'Uncle' to buy you something that makes you look attractive. You'll be amazed what a good couturier can do with even the most unpromising material. But maybe dear Cedric likes the ‘rustic peasant charm' look. Oh look there's D'Arcy.” She turned her back on Agatha, linked her arm with Cedric's, and led him away across the lawn, talking to him in a soft voice. Cedric looked like a rabbit hypnotised by a rattlesnake.

Abandoned in the middle of the lawn, Agatha fumed. “That. Cow. Is. Going. To. Die,” she predicted through gritted teeth.

“Hey, don't let her get to you,” said Krosp rubbing around her ankles with his best 'hungry adorable cat' act. “With her narrow hips, we'll see who has the last laugh when you both have your first litter. And if you don't want the rest of that pork pie I can finish it for you. What is puzzling me is why she is behaving that way towards the Earl.”

“It's called flirting, Krosp.” For no logical reason, Agatha felt a surge of jealousy.

“Really? It doesn't smell much like flirting to me. Our friend Cedric is definitely attracted to little Ms Yr Wrach, but then she is female, breathing and wearing very few clothes. But she smells all wrong. She is definitely sending out the body language, but she doesn't smell like you...” the words '... you do when you are around Wulfenbach' were diplomatically replaced just in time by “...you might expect if she were attracted to him at all.”

“Odd,” Agatha agreed, feeling unaccountably pleased.

Having been shown the cold shoulder by her hosts, Agatha decided to circulate among the other guests. A rather vague looking elderly lady, thankfully wearing a more respectable outfit than the younger women, wandered up and examined her through a lorgnette. “Nice cosplay my dear,” she told her. “The cat is a clever touch – so much more civilised than a weasel – although I suppose it would be too much to train him to wear the coat. If I had to criticise, you do have too many buttons on your waistcoat and they should be silver, rather than brass. Of course the real thing is rather taller and slimmer than you, not that there's much you can do about that. Mind you,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I hear she has been piling on the pounds since she finally moved into the Castle on a permanent basis.” She gave Agatha an encouraging smile and wandered on. “What's a cosplay?” Agatha whispered to Krosp.

Another guest struck Agatha's eye, a man, dressed in a white suit with an unusual top hat of much more modern and fashionable design than the rather stuffy clothes worn by the older male guests. He was also one of the few men who hadn't brought along a younger female relative. He introduced himself as Sir Christofer Wolfe, an entrepreneur based in London. Soon Agatha was entranced by his description of the mechanical zoo he had created, which was attracting large crowds, with its steam-powered swans, wind-up wombats and gear-filled gorillas.  The conversation had moved on to a fascinating discussion of gear ratios when the Duke of Machen appeared at Agatha's elbow and interrupted Sir Christofer in the middle of a sentence.

“Miss Clay. If you can spare us the time from your busy schedule there are things we really need to discuss together.” He spoke impatiently as though it was he who had been waiting for Agatha. “Oh, er, of course, she said, “er, if you'll excuse me Sir Christofer.” The man shrugged and Agatha hurried after the Duke, who had already turned his back on her and was walking back to Cedric and Llithrig, who were still standing far too close to each other. Llithrig had her arm draped over Cedric's shoulder. The Duke scowled. Agatha was puzzled. As far as she could tell, Cedric looked like good husband material. If he and the Duke's niece liked each other, why would Lord Machen object to the match? OK, so Cedric was only an Earl, but if Llithrig was the daughter of a younger brother or sister, she wouldn't be in line for the title anyway. Agatha realised that she was clearly missing something. She became aware that the Duke was talking to her, sneering at Sir Christofer. 

 “...and he's a total oik. Ghastly new money of course – wears his top hat in the drawing room.” As they walked up, Llithrig unpeeled herself from Cedric and transferred all her attention to the Duke. Cedric looked slightly uncomfortable. 'I expect he knows that the Duke doesn't approve' thought Agatha to herself. She decided that she would have to make the effort to be friendly if they were all to work together.

“Wonderful gardens you have here D'Arcy,” she began. The Duke gave her a look of pure arrogance, his head tilted so far back that she could see his nose hairs, “oh, er... I beg your pardon, My Lord. I understand that you are from Wales?”

The Duke's unpleasant malicious smile returned.

“Indeed, Miss Clay. The country of Wales is beautiful beyond compare, truly the jewel of the British Isles! The great mountains of Snowdonia, where King Arthur dreams! The soaring cliffs of Pembrokeshire with its wide curving bays and fishing villages full of poets! The great untamed wilderness beyond Tregaron where the red kites soar! The bustling centres of industry beneath the domes of Newport and Swansea! The home of Welsh Culture at Machynlleth! The majestic Cathedral of St Davids! The green mountains of the Brecon Beacons with their unsurpassed views across the fertile farmlands! The ancient seats of learning at Lampeter and Aberystwyth! The mighty fortress of Careg Cennan! The defiant tempest-torn cliffs of Penmaenmawr! Plynlimmon old in story! The cosmopolitan capital of Cardiff with its vibrant night life and its world-renowned Institute of Colouring! The mysterious ancient stone circle at Pontypridd, home of the ancient druids!”

“Gosh,” exclaimed Agatha, genuinely impressed, “it sounds absolutely tremendous. Wales must be the most wonderful part of England.” She was puzzled by the sharp intakes of breath and hostile stares of the Duke and Llithrig in response to her sincere compliment. Even more so by the fact that Cedric was apparently having problems suppressing a fit of giggles. The Duke's expression hardened into a glare of pure hatred and he turned without a word and stalked away. Llithrig looked at Agatha with withering contempt.

“Here, take this dear.” She handed Agatha her plate, still half full of chicken, as though giving it to a servant. “It will help maintain your Rubenesque figure.” Agatha turned white and indulged in a mental fantasy of grinding broken china into the other Spark’s pretty-perfect face. Thinking quickly, Krosp averted potential disaster with a piteous mewing at Agatha's feet, allowing her to save face by putting the plate down on the grass for him. The left-over chicken never stood a chance. There was a muffled purring and an obscene gobbling. Llithrig looked at the cat in distaste.

“I'm sure that isn't hygienic,” she said, disapprovingly. Agatha considered. “Probably not, but don't worry. He has an excellent immune system.” Llithrig turned her back on her without a further word and gave her full attention to Cedric. 'Well, you can't say I didn't try to be friendly,' thought Agatha. 'I supposed they finally wanted to speak to me! Are we ever going to start on this monster hunt or not?!' As the immediate answer seemed to be 'no', she looked round to see if she could find a clean plate for a second helping of food.

After lunch the guests assembled in the music room so that professional musicians, and some of the guests, could entertain the ensemble with their singing and piano playing. Cedric contributed by singing a sad song about his mother. Agatha noticed Sir Christofer Wolfe sobbing softly into a large white handkerchief, so she went over to comfort him.

“Ah, are you sentimental?” she asked kindly, laying a sympathetic hand on his arm.

Sir Christofer sniffed. “No Miss, I'm musical,” he said and buried his face in his handkerchief again.  Agatha looked disconcerted and unobtrusively sidled away.

Finally, the guests started to leave. In order not to appear to be obviously lingering, Agatha and Krosp walked around the extensive formal gardens. The more she saw, the more Agatha was amazed by the level of obsession and effort that had gone into keeping everything so perfect and ordered. Rounding a corner she came across a small man on his knees by a flower bed, carefully trimming the machine-straight edge of the grass border with a pair of nail scissors. When he saw Agatha and Krosp he immediately scrambled to his feet, pulling his fore-lock with his head bowed. 

“Excuse me,” Agatha asked him, “but are you the gardener here?”  The man looked up, apparently surprised to be addressed by a member of the gentry in terms that were neither an order nor an insult.  Agatha caught a glimpse of badly misaligned teeth as he spoke.

“By your leave Ma'am,” he said, not making eye contact, “I am Chitters, the head gardener here at Beaufort Palace.”

“How splendid! I must say this is the most wonderful, the most marvellous garden I have ever seen in my life! Is this all your work?”

“I have worked here all my life to tend this garden Ma'am,” mumbled Chitters, his face still lowered. “It occupies me all day and every day. There is never a day in which there is not something for me to do here.” He sounded as though he were talking through clenched teeth.

“Well you are doing a fantastic job.” The gardener muttered something incoherent and looked at his boots. Agatha sensed that he was highly uncomfortable and with a few further words of encouragement she moved on. Having met with Lord Machen, she could well understand that he did not encourage his servants to fraternise with the guests and she did not want to embarrass the gardener any further. As they moved away, Chitters bent down to resume trimming the borders, but Krosp noticed the sharp, unfriendly glare he gave their departing backs. Once they had turned the corner out of earshot and found a seat by a cooling fountain beneath a romantic pergola coated with carefully trimmed and trained roses, he turned to Agatha.

“You know, there was something really wrong with that gardener fellow.”

“Oh, I expect he was just not used to talking to guests,” Agatha said off-handedly. She was still replaying the recent conversations with Llithrig Yr Wrach in her mind and thinking of all the devastating remarks she should have said if only she had thought of them in time. Krosp was not prepared to let things go so easily.

“No, there was more to it than that,” he continued. “Remember I can smell as well as look and listen. That man wasn't just embarrassed or irritated at being disturbed. He was angry. I mean really angry. I could smell the hatred pouring off him in waves.”

Agatha sighed. “Oh please, not more intrigue. This was supposed to be a nice simple adventure. Arrive. Find monster. Try and persuade it to be good. Get attacked anyway. Kill it. Go home. Why do things have to be so needlessly complicated?”

“As far as I'm concerned, this is the fun part.”

“Look, I'm sure that you are over-analysing again. I expect Mr Chitters is angry because all these people are walking over his lawns and wandering around his gardens. He's obviously completely obsessive to the point of insanity and you've got to respect and admire him for that. How would you feel if you had spent your entire life cutting, weeding and rolling to create the perfect bit of turf and then someone comes along and puts trestle tables all over it and drops half-eaten pork pies everywhere?”

Krosp looked disappointed. “Perhaps, but I still don't trust him.”

“Krosp, you don't trust anyone.”

“Why Agatha, thank you!” The Emperor was touched. Agatha got to her feet. “Come on, the other guests should have gone by now so the coast should be clear. Let's go and find Lord Machen and his niece so we can get on with this Adventure, though I swear, one more disobliging snide comment from that... that person and I won't be responsible for my actions.”

Krosp shrugged. “You never know. Perhaps the two of you will have a series of varied and amazing adventures that will bring you closer together in a comedic yet touching fashion.”

Agatha was not convinced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can hear all about Sir Christofer Wolfe's Mechanical Zoo here:
> 
> [The Mechanical Menagerie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lL7CUt0Aec)
> 
> although I'm afraid he really does wear his [top hat in the drawing room](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/steampunk/images/7/72/Bandwiki2.jpg/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/300?cb=20100203073930)


	5. Wamblecropt Farm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne discovers that the Welsh are well-balanced_

They found Lord Machen, Llithrig and Cedric back at the main house in the room with the Italian statues. Llithrig was adopting the artistic poses of the various Greek goddesses in order to favourably compare her body to theirs. Cedric blushed guiltily when Agatha caught him ogling.

“I was just complimenting Mr Chitters on his wonderful garden.” Agatha told them.

“’Mr’? Hah! Never heard him called that before.” sneered Lord Machen. “Please don't distract the little people from their work by talking to them or trying to be friendly. It gives them ideas above their station.”

To Cedric's obvious disappointment, Llithrig left the statue against which she had been posing. She made a point of brushing against him with a flirtatious smile as she walked past.

“Now that we are all here, perhaps we should go downstairs so I can show you my Secret Laboratory,” she suggested. Prepare to be amazed Lady Heterodyne!” In fact Agatha was prepared to find fault, but after all one of the reasons she was here was to see what the other Spark had to offer. They walked through into the main entrance hall where Agatha paused to look at the large picture of the medieval knight. If the Lord Machen had been twenty years younger with a full head of hair and had climbed more Welsh mountains and eaten less Welsh cakes, you could imagine that there was a certain likeness. The Duke was pleased by her appreciation.

“That is one of my ancestors, Owain Glyndŵr,” he told her proudly. “A freedom fighter against the English oppression that has been the blight of the ancient Celtic people since the Saxon barbarians swept in at the end of the Roman occupation. Wales still struggles against the English tide of barbarism and ignorance, but like the great Glyndŵr, we remain unbowed.” He said this in a loud voice looking towards Cedric, with the successful intention of embarrassing him.

“Didn't Glyndŵr lose?” asked Krosp, nastily. “As I recall he undid all the work of King Llewellyn the Great, who created closer economic and military ties with the prosperous and successful nation being built by Albia. Then Glyndŵr threw away all the potential financial and political rewards by starting a pointless war with England, mostly to maintain his dominance over the other Welsh warlords, with the result that Wales was crushed and lost all vestiges of independence. Then he fled to Ireland disguised in ladies' clothes, leaving his minions to suffer Albia’s wrath.” He knew he was being a little unfair, but he was still fuming over the way the Duke had made him wait when he first arrived, which in his opinion was no way to treat an Emperor, even one travelling incognito.

Lord Machen scowled. “You cat, have been reading too much English propaganda. Glyndŵr was a great hero, who...”

“Well, it's certainly a good portrait,” said Agatha hurriedly. “I can see the family resemblance. Did you commission the portrait to commemorate your heroic...?”

“Certainly not!” interrupted the Duke harshly. “This painting has been handed down through the family for generations! It dates back to the time of the great man himself! A link between myself and all who have opposed Albia's tyranny throughout the centuries!”

“Only surely those distinctive bright reds on the shield are Captain’s Scarlet and that pigment was only invented....  ah, my mistake, of course this is really an old family heirloom.” Agatha reassured him, her mind rapidly changing gear. The Duke's smug and condescending smile reasserted itself. Agatha decided not to pursue the discussion as to how exactly the painting had been passed down through the family, if the first Duke was the illegitimate son of an actress, or for that matter why a man from 1400 was wearing late medieval full plate armour.

They walked from the entrance hall into the body of the house, passing through a series of spacious, expensively furnished and extravagantly decorated rooms, none of which appeared to have any practical function, until they came into a smaller chamber, barely large enough for an average-sized house to fit inside. Here, the Duke went to a particular panel and, being careful to keep his back to his guests so they couldn't see exactly what he was doing, he turned something just so and opened a secret door to reveal a set of spiral stone steps leading downwards. Torches in sconces lining the walls burst into flame to illuminate their way. At last, Agatha was encouraged. So far she had not seen any Spark creations or activity at all, but this was starting to look more like the genuine article.

The Duke led the way down the stairs, Cedric stepping aside to allow the ladies to go first and then brought up the rear with Krosp. The secret door slid shut behind them with an audible clunk. Agatha estimated they descended the equivalent of several storeys, lower than the normal cellars where an unimaginative person might imagine a Secret Laboratory would be. Finally the stairs ended in another door. Llithrig paused as she went to open it. Agatha was well aware of the conflicting emotions that would be running through her mind. Allowing another Spark inside her Secret Laboratory or even revealing its location was not something to be done lightly. On the other hand, she knew that Llithrig would want to demonstrate the wonderful and unique inventions that she had made and show them, show them all! But in particular, show the great Agatha Heterodyne!

“Before we enter Lady Heterodyne,” Llithrig said seriously, “I want to make it perfectly clear that everything you see beyond this door is confidential and I want you to swear that you will never divulge what you see here to anyone else.”

“Of course,” said Agatha, equally as serious. “This is your Secret Laboratory and your rules apply.” Krosp was pleased that Llithrig had not thought to extract such a promise from him, so he was free to tell whoever he liked. Not that a promise would have stopped him anyway.

“Don’t worry!” called Cedric from the back. “You can trust us! None of us went to Cambridge!” Llithrig scowled at him and opened the door that led to the ancient sub-basement that contained her Secret Laboratory.

They walked into a large workshop, lined with benches and shelves piled high with equipment. In the centre of the room stood an outsized carriage festooned with gleaming mechanism, with four upholstered seats at the front and a small steam engine on the back. At first Agatha assumed it was some kind of horseless carriage. Then she realised that the complicated linkages on either side that she had assumed to be a rather inefficient drive train with sloppy tolerances were in fact designed to unfold as wings. The carriage could fly. It was a falling machine!

“This,” announced Llithrig proudly, leading the way into the room, “is the Brass Butterfly. A new chapter in the story of flight that will rid the world forever of bloated, oversized blimps.” She made sure that Agatha did not miss the significant look she gave in her direction. “I call it an ornithopter.”

“I've had quite a bit of experience with these back in Mechanicsburg,” Agatha replied as she walked round the device, determined to find something to criticise. “We call them Sturzzeugs. I've worked on them with G... that is with Baron Wulfenbach's people. The wings look rather flimsy. How do you keep them rigid enough after they unfold?”

“Oh these are far more subtle than the clumsy metal things you make down in Transylvania. This device emulates the natural soaring of the bird, not mindless engineering. The wings are not rigid, but move and flap. It makes for far greater lift and manoeuvrability.”

“Yes, but it’s perfectly obvious that you will lose all stability in consequence and it will be very difficult to fly. Sturzzeugs must have a rigid wing.”

“Nonsense. You forget I am Welsh! Like a seagull I am in tune with the spirits of the air and I will fly in harmony with them, not fight against them like some crude mechanic. But don't worry if the thought of such advanced cutting edge science alarms you because we are not going to travel in this today. I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable in a nice, safe horse-drawn carriage that your mind can more readily comprehend.”

“Er… sorry if I’m missing something obvious,” said Cedric uncertainly, “but if this is a flying machine, we are in fact quite a long way underground, and it looks far too big to get through the door and up the steps.”

“Don’t be silly Cedric dear,” Llithrig told him. “You see it’s on a platform? There’s a big hydraulic-powered piston underneath that will lift the Butterfly up to the ceiling, where that panel moves aside and four mechanical arms descend and engage with these linkages here. A security portcullis slides up into the ceiling so that the ornithopter can be lifted into a tunnel containing a conveyor belt, which carries it along to a winch-powered lift that takes it up to the surface, while at the same time rotating it through 270 degrees so it is facing in the right direction ready for take-off. A false coach house disguising the top of the shaft pivots up from a hinge at the back and then folds flat on the ground to make room for the lift, which itself unfolds to allow the Butterfly to launch. Finally six trees around the take-off area are bent through 60 degrees by internal hydraulics so they don’t impede the wings as they unfurl. Simple, but elegant. When you come back to land, the whole process goes into reverse and brings you safely back down again.”

Cedric frowned. “But wouldn’t it be easier if you simply kept it in one of the coach houses upstairs and wheeled it out into the courtyard when you wanted to take off, then you wouldn’t need…” Both the Sparks turned and glowered at him and his voice tailed off into silence. “Ah, no of course not, silly of me.”

Once they had finished their admiration of the Brass Butterfly they walked through the large doors on the far side of the room into the next part of the Secret Laboratory, a storeroom full of boxes and crates piled together in a rather haphazard fashion. Such clutter would never be tolerated in Castle Heterodyne. They passed through into the main Laboratory, the heart of any Spark’s Secret Lair. Despite herself, Agatha felt her pulse quickening in anticipation. What wonders was she about to see? They began the grand tour, with Llithrig keen to show off her achievements. There were the usual machines you might expect – a large chemical synthesis plant looking like a model of an oil refinery, lathes, drills and machine tools, powerful electrical generators with the traditional dials and large ominous blade switches. There were also more unusual things; large slabs of unpolished uneven stone standing upright like bulky oversized gateposts, small crystals hanging from pendants or placed at certain positions on a large intricate diagram that looked like a complicated board game but wasn't; strange open weave structures with various feathers, coloured stones and leaves woven into them. Although she would have cut her tongue out before she would admit it to anyone else, Agatha had no idea what much of it was supposed to do.

“Some of this tech is really – quite unique,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “These large stone pillars for instance. Heat sinks, or radiation shielding?”

“Please. These are no mere lumps of stone. These are carefully shaped and sculptured energy conduits cut from the sacred Presceli Mountains, the same blue stone that powered mighty Stonehenge, another desecrated sacred site stolen by the English from the Celtic druids who created it. These stones act as the main power generators and storage of the Earth Power that empowers all of my work, just as the sacred crystals act to channel that power to achieve wondrous things and the dream-catchers absorb the negative vibrations.”

“Really?” replied Agatha, unable to keep the scepticism out of her voice as she eyed the many electric power cables that crisscrossed the workbenches that were obviously providing more conventional power for the laboratory apparatus.

“Didn't you hear me say that I am in touch with Nature? Or perhaps you have forgotten already? You see, I have much more than the mere Spark. I am a Celtic Druidess, heir of the ancient druids who have walked this island since the beginning of time, a descendant of those who communed with the Land long before the Saxon invaders from Germany despoiled this land, drove us from the sacred groves and became the English. When I walk upon this land it speaks to me and becomes one with me. The Earth Power that flows through all things flows through me and I can harness it in the name of all that is natural and marvellous!”

“Oh, so you must come from Pontypridd then,” Agatha said, remembering the Duke's description of Wales.

Llithrig looked affronted, “From the Valleys? Me?” she sniffed in an offended tone. “Certainly not! I am from Cardiff!”

“There are those of us who strive for Wales at a more prosaic level,” added Lord Machen. “By my ceaseless fortitude and determination some control has already been rested away from the slavering jaws of Albia and I am now leader of our own Welsh Parliament where we can, to a limited extent, make our own laws and decide our own destiny. We are still beholden to the oppressors in London of course, but it is the first step on the road to true independence and freedom.”

“And power for you,” thought Krosp, impressed.

“Of course we speak the beautiful Welsh language,” continued Llithrig. “The language of poets and those in touch with the Universe. Almost impossible for the English to learn, with their crude insensitive minds full of metal and wheels. Naturally, they have done their best to stamp it out, but the Welsh Spirit will always resist and prevail to burst forth again in the inevitable spring of enlightenment, despite the English winter of rationality that assails it.”

Cedric looked rather embarrassed, as though all this English oppression were his fault personally. Neither Llithrig nor Lord Machen made any attempt to persuade him otherwise.

Agatha refused to be drawn into a discussion on the unfamiliar devices, although she would have loved to conduct a proper detailed investigation to find out what everything really did when her fellow Spark was not there looking over her shoulder. She certainly didn’t want to get involved in local politics either. Instead she turned the conversation to another part of the lab; something she was more familiar with and something that intrigued her.  “I see you have a medical facility here as well as a machine shop.”

“If you understood anything about the conditions in which your raw materials are produced, you would know that mining is very dangerous. Of course, Albia won't look after injured miners, so I do. I am a natural healer after all. It comes from my druid ancestry. I use the chemical lab over there to brew the sort of healing drafts you could only dream of.”

She indicated several shelves of brightly coloured and intricately shaped bottles, all carefully labelled. “My holistic medicine treats not just the injury or disease but brings the entire energy flow of the spirit into total harmony. But still, you specialise in hurting, rather than healing don't you?” Agatha reflected on the benefits of hurting over healing in specific cases she had recently encountered, but was determined to keep her temper.

“And the restraints on the operating table? Are they really necessary?”

“Of course! What a stupid question.”

As Agatha walked over for a closer look she bumped into a trolley, scattering surgical instruments across the floor.

“You clumsy great elephant,” scolded Llithrig crossly. “Now see what you’ve done! Be more careful!”

Agatha mumbled an apology and began picking up the scattered scalpels, getting down on her hands and knees to retrieve a couple that had gone under the medical bench. As she got back to her feet, Krosp noticed a flash of a triumphant, cunning smile on her face while Llithrig’s back was turned. He had been working with Agatha long enough to realise that The Heterodyne was Up To Something.

Having concluded their inspection of the Secret Laboratory, they all walked back upstairs for the drive to Wamblecropt Farm to meet the miners and see the extent of the excavation so far. Krosp hung back so he could talk to Agatha in private as they walked to the coach, although he need not have bothered. Naturally enough they spoke Romanian to each other so were completely incomprehensible to the British anyway.

“Why are you being so nice to these people?” he demanded. “If they can't at least be civil to us we should go home and let them deal with their own problems.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Agatha replied, “but it's not what my father or Uncle Barry would have done is it? The important thing here is to solve this monster problem. Anyway, Cedric has been very nice.”

“Hrmph. Apart from slapping your butt, not to mention getting us soaked to the skin?”

“Yes, but he means well. I do believe I rather like him.”

“What?! Why?!”

“You don’t think he’s rather handsome?” She blushed. Krosp scowled.

“He isn’t my type. At the garden party, he didn’t give me any food at all!” he complained.

“Anyway,” said Agatha, hastily changing the subject, “did you spot what was missing from the Secret Laboratory?”

Krosp frowned in thought. “Hm, spotting something that isn’t there is always a tricky one, let’s see…? I know, minions. There weren’t any minions about. Oh, and no food. How can they work if there is no food?”

“Good points, but that wasn’t what I was thinking of. All the equipment looked to be well used, but there were no inventions, no creations, apart from that rather crude Sturzzeug, and its launcher and those ridiculous quack medicines. What has our Little Princess been working on and where is it?” she asked as they caught up with the others.

They travelled to Wamblecropt Farm in a simple horse-drawn carriage belonging to the Duke, the Earl's carriage having been sent back to Edgehill House. Llithrig asked the coachman innocently whether the horses would be enough to pull all the extra weight, or whether it might be kinder to harness up a couple of shires. Agatha spent the journey imagining a future in which a sensible outdoor shoe stamped on a pretty-perfect face, forever.

\------------------------*

The coach rounded a corner of the park and despite herself, Agatha’s black humour was ameliorated by the sight of the beautiful valley that lay beneath them. A patchwork of green fields was bordered by thick hedges. Venerable oaks and elms in full leaf were scattered through the pastures. In the centre stood a large farmhouse of golden stone wreathed in honeysuckle. Even the utilitarian outbuildings looked like a sentimental painting of a rural idyll as imagined by an artist who had lived in a city all his life and had never had to get up a 5 o’clock in the morning in the middle of winter to milk the cows. The air was full of bird song.

As they descended into the valley, Agatha noticed that at close quarters the farm did not look quite so picturesque. The pastures were rank, overgrown and devoid of livestock, the gates hanging open. The hedges were untrimmed and starting to encroach upon the road.

“A shame the place is looking a bit run down,” Cedric remarked casually. “No-one to look after it I suppose?”

“Oh yes,” Agatha remarked, “you said that the tenants welshed on the rent and left in the middle of the night.” Lord Machen and Llithrig both glared at her. Had it not been for the small smirk at the corner of her mouth, Krosp would have been almost, but not entirely, sure that Agatha hadn’t thought about the etymology of the verb before she used it. Cedric tried to keep the conversation going before things started to turn unpleasant.

“The miners are not really farmers – to be honest they absolutely despise anything to do with agricultural - and we are trying to keep them out of sight. Once we have the mine set up then we can always get a new tenant in.”

“When you start shipping coal, this would be a good place to put the freight terminal,” suggested Agatha, “and perhaps you could build some houses for the miners, once everything is above board and you don’t need to keep them hidden. It shouldn’t take too much effort to clear all these trees and hedgerows out of the way to create something a bit more practical. For a start, if you cut down that stand of beech trees on the hill you could build an ironwork aerial conveyor belt to bring the coal directly from the mine to the rail terminal that would be just perfect where that ornamental duck pond is, and if you put the steam engine sheds next to them you could dump all the effluent into the little stream that runs down the valley. The little hollow over there with the pastures full of wild flowers would be ideal for the slag heaps.”

“Oh, er, yes of course, what a good idea,” replied the Duke, stifling a deliberate yawn as Agatha’s proposals to improve the Wamblecropt valley became more and more detailed. The planning only ended when the carriage pulled up at the farm. The kitchen garden was untended and full of weeds and broken glass, the vegetables already starting to go to seed. As they walked down the path to the front door the sound of raised voices came from within. The Duke sighed in frustration and led the way into the house.

They walked into the main room of the farm house, which would normally serve as combined kitchen and communal area. Although some remnants of tidy domestic harmony still remained in the row of china plates on the dresser and the framed embroidery on the wall, the room was in a shocking state. Unwashed crockery and cutlery cluttered every work surface. The huge wooden table was stained with old food and buried beneath a forest of empty beer bottles. Most of the plates on the dresser appeared to have been broken by stones. The glass of the embroidery was cracked.

Around the table, three men were engaged in a furious argument. One of them, a large, solid man with a hard, beaten face, dressed in tweeds and a red waistcoat, stood up and took off his bowler hat in respect as Lord Machen entered. The other two, dressed in worn and dirty working clothes, stood slowly with an air of insolence and challenging stares, to make it perfectly clear that although they were standing in the presence of a peer of the realm and two ladies, this was their own decision and they reserved the right to remain seated if they wished. There was nothing deferential about their attitude at all.

The Duke sighed, with the air of a man who is gravely disappointed in his minions. “Miss Clay, may I introduce Mr Evans, shop steward representing the Union of Pit Face Workers, Mr Jones, shop steward representing the Amalgamated Union of Spoil Removers and Pit Prop Maintainers,” he indicated the two working men, who glowered at her, “and Ferguson, my Estate Manager,”; he indicated the man holding the bowler hat, who gave a nervous nod, his worried eyes flicking back to the Duke. 

“Now Ferguson,” the Duke said sternly, “why have you not managed to reach an agreement with the miners on their danger money bonus as I instructed? I thought I made it quite clear that I am not some ghastly, grasping, new money industrialist out to wring every penny from my exploited workers. These are brave men, risking their lives far beneath the ground, and now it seems something from Albemarle’s pit has increased their peril ten-fold. If ever men deserved a raise, they do.”

Mr Ferguson rotated his bowler hat in his hands with something like fear. He gave the impression that this was an emotion he was more used to inspiring than feeling himself. Agatha could imagine his standard method for extracting payment from tenants late with the rent was the application of a large blunt instrument. Whatever the Duke might say about being a good employer to the miners, he clearly didn’t feel the same way about his estate workers, judging by the dread on his manger’s face.

“But I have made them a very generous offer,” whined Ferguson. “It is just that Mr Evans and Mr Jones here cannot agree on the amount. He indicated the two miners’ leaders on either side of him. They too looked like men toughened by a hard life, with worn faces and large hands shaped by physical labour. Krosp noticed that although their hands bore the blue scars of the mine, they were actually rather soft and pink, with no calluses. These were hands that had known hard labour, but not recently. Somehow, he was not surprised. A dispassionate observer, he was more interested in Lord Machen, who wore his usual malicious smile. Krosp realised that he was enjoying placing a minion between a rock and a hard place and then squeezing, merely so he could relish watching the unfortunate man squirm. The Emperor of All Cats was starting to warm to Lord Machen.

“It’s all a question of pay, see?” said Mr Jones. “Look you double the bonus of the pit face workers and then they will get an extra pound a week while if you double our bonus we only get an extra ten shillings because they already get paid more than us and that’s just not fair for my members.”

“Fine,” said Agatha, “let’s give everyone an extra pound a week danger money so it’s all fair.”

 

“Never!” exclaimed Mr Evans. “That would erode our differential. Pit face working is a skilled trade and naturally my members deserve higher wages as a consequence. If you pay the unskilled workers from the Spoilers Union the same bonus as my members, then this undermines our skilled status, see. It’s all a question of demarcation! It implies that unskilled workers can take the jobs of skilled workers.”

The two men glared at each other angrily. Agatha resisted the urge to beat their heads together. Sometimes she really sympathised with Baron Wulfenbach.

“But you can’t have it both ways. And you are all getting more money. While we are sitting here arguing then no coal is being mined and that doesn’t help anyone.”

“It isn’t our job to help anyone, or to dig a tunnel or a pit, or to mine coal” exclaimed Evans. “We’re here to represent our members and make sure they are not exploited. We don’t care about anything else.”

“That’s right! Unless you adopt a more flexible attitude you’ll have a full scale miners’ strike on your hands! We’ll bring every pit in Wales to a standstill!” shouted Mr Jones.

“I thought you were already out?” said Cedric. “Isn’t there a strike on because the management at Bedwas tried to enforce the rule on no smoking down the pit?” The two shop stewards both turned bright red with fury. Agatha thought they were going to have synchronised heart attacks.

“Typical of the petty-minded management out to oppress the working class!” bellowed Mr Evans.

“It’s an inalienable right of workers everywhere to smoke while they work!” added Mr Jones.

Cedric looked a little taken aback by the onslaught.

“Wasn’t the ban introduced after the fourth major explosion?” he asked nervously.

 “Another example of management victimising the workers for their failure to provide adequate safety provisions!” retorted Mr Evans. The petty bickering was starting to annoy Agatha’s already frayed temper.

“Right, fine, so you aren’t digging anything right now. If it’s not too much trouble can we please get on and see how much you have dug so we can get through to the actual cavern and finally go and look for this monster I’ve come to deal with for you! I’ll leave you to get on with the negotiations! Come along Cedric!” She turned and stormed out of the room, the rest of the visitors following in her wake.

“Cedric!” she demanded once they were all outside, “where exactly is this tunnel we’ve come to see?”

“The entrance is just inside the largest barn over there,” he called after her, struggling to keep up, Krosp at his heels. Lord Machen and Llithrig made no attempt to follow but lingered together in the overgrown garden of the farmhouse. Agatha strode in through the large entrance. The barn was full of miners; large, strong capable men, dressed in work clothes. They were all relaxed, sitting reading newspapers, smoking, drinking and throwing stones at the scrawny chickens that scratched around the floor. As Agatha, Cedric and Krosp walked through the barn the miners expressed their contempt, not by turning their backs or by hostile glares, but simply by refusing to acknowledge that they even existed. Shovels, pick axes, miners’ lamps and helmets were hung in jumbled array on the wall, unused. At the far end of the barn a large hole had been dug into the floor, the entrance to a tunnel 10 feet wide and 10 feet high that sloped downward into the ground, illuminated by small lights.

Agatha stomped up to the entrance and straight down the ramp to where the tunnel flattened out and then stopped dead in amazement, looking at the solid wall of stone twenty feet in front of her, the end of the tunnel. She recovered her composure as Cedric and Krosp caught up.

“Right, good plan,” she announced. “Conceal the main entrance with a secret door to stop anyone wandering in – and to seal it up in case this monster of yours comes wandering out too, I expect. Really well constructed I will give them that. You’d never guess there it was there if you didn’t know. So, how does it open I wonder?”

“Actually Lady Heterodyne…” Cedric began, but Agatha held up her hand to silence him.

“No, no, don’t tell me. I love a puzzle. Now then…”

“But…”

“No, don’t spoil it for me, I can work this out.”

They waited while Agatha prodded, pushed, probed and finally kicked various pit props, significant-looking rocky outcrops and odd pieces of debris. Krosp took the opportunity to curl up on an old tarpaulin for a catnap, while Cedric hovered uncomfortably. Finally Agatha stood back with her hands on her hips, blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and harrumphed in frustration.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me out of bringing any proper tools,” she complained. Krosp opened a lazy eye.

“Try telling it you’re its friend,” he suggested unhelpfully,

“Normally I don’t like to be beaten like this,” she told them, feeling she was losing face by making the admission, “but we are wasting too much time. How do you open this door Cedric?” The Earl looked very embarrassed and unhappy.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you. There is no secret door here. This is the end of the tunnel.”

“What?! You said there were two hundred miners and they’ve been here for weeks! Are you telling me that this is all they’ve done in that time?! My minions could have dug this much in a day!”

“Of course, some of them have done preliminary work in the main cavern and then there’s been all sorts of safety assessments and work plans before they could get started, and as you’ve seen there have been quite a few delays while a variety of industrial disputes have been sorted out.” He caught the look in Agatha’s eye, “but yes, this is in fact all the tunnel they have dug so far.”

 “You should have employed Poles,” suggested Krosp. Cedric was horrified.

“Gosh no, that would never do. If there is one thing guaranteed to make all the miners down tools at once it would be to bring in non-Union labour.”

“Down tools?!” snapped Agatha. “How would you tell? Come on! Back to the farmhouse and we’ll get to your caverns over ground!” She stamped off back up the tunnel, through the barn full of  miners, and out into the sunshine, where Lord Machen and Llithrig Yr Wrach were standing very close together, admiring the view. 

“Right!” Agatha announced. “So we've finally seen everything and everyone, including all of your tunnel. Now, let’s get over to Cedric's cavern and start looking for this monster!”

“No.” said Lord Machen with his look of amused disdain.

“I'm sorry?”

“No. You seem to be the one obsessing about this monster. You go and look for it.” He turned back to the view, as though the conversation was of no further consequence. As Cedric and Krosp caught up, Llithrig gave them a condescending look.

“Honestly dear, you can't really expect me to be wandering around in some dreadful pit now that I've just done my hair? And in these shoes?”

“Well, why don't you go and get changed?” demanded Agatha.

“But that will take hours! And I've just had my nails done too! Honestly, you have no idea at all do you? You've obviously come dressed to go rooting around in the dirt, so why don't you go and do that? When you've found out what the problem is, you can call us and we'll come and sort it out for you.” With that she took the Duke’s arm and walked with him into the barn. Agatha heard the roar of approval from the miners that greeted them.

“What on earth is going on?” Agatha demanded to the Universe in general with her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Are they going to help us or not?! So far I’ve had my butt slapped, been soaked to the skin, woken by bagpipes, drunk horrible coffee, looked at two country houses, attended a garden party, seen a lab with no inventions in it and been shown a blank wall! Is anything ever going to happen in this wretched Adventure or not?!” She turned to Cedric. “Are you ready to go down the pit and actually hunt for this monster?!” she asked him. Cedric gave her a gap-toothed grin.

“Rather! Ready when you are Lady Heterodyne!” Agatha felt her anger melting away in the face of his enthusiasm and she grinned back.

“At least someone here is pulling their weight” she exclaimed, squaring her shoulders. “Let's go! It's time this Adventure finally got started!”


	6. The Pit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Lady Heterodyne, The Emperor of All Cats and the Earl of Albemarle go on an Adventure_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Due Warning:**  
>  _After Lady Heterodyne’s complaints in the last less-than-exciting episode, the Adventure is about to get considerably more interesting. This chapter contains a dead child, violence at least equal to standard canon and a (totally justified) rude word._

Agatha, Krosp and Cedric set out along a well-worn path from the farm, waymarked with empty bottles and the discarded ends of many, many roll-ups, which led straight towards the hill that marked the edge of the Earl’s estate and the entrance to the caverns. After sustained piteous mewing quite unbecoming the dignity of an Emperor, Krosp persuaded Cedric to carry him. The cat climbed up onto the Earl’s shoulder, anchored himself with his claws and enjoyed the view from his high vantage point. Meanwhile, Agatha was thinking out loud as they walked.

“You did say that the Wellesleys sneaked away in the middle of the night?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s what I understood.” Cedric told her.

“And they took all their things with them?”

“I suppose so.”

“Only there seemed to be an awful lot of stuff left. All those plates in the dresser. That looked like their best crockery – until the miners smashed it.”

“I suppose if they were doing a moonlight flit they had to travel light.”

“But leaving the best china? For poor tenant farmers, that would be a really big deal. Then there was that framed embroidery sampler on the wall.”

“Can’t say I really noticed. It didn’t look especially valuable to me. Seemed a bit crude to be honest.”

“At the bottom it said ‘Abigail W, aged 9’. Not really the sort of thing that a mother would leave behind, especially if she was proud enough to have it framed. I’m wondering if there might be more to the vanishing Wellesleys than we realised. They are the nearest farm to your pit – and your monster - after all.”

“But they left before we’d even started digging or anything!”

“Yes. Odd isn’t it?”

They arrived at the base of the hill and crossed a low brick wall that marked the edge of the Beaufort estate. A stile had been installed, but the wall next to it had been smashed down to form a gap that they could walk through.

“Looks as though climbing stiles wasn’t part of the miners’ job description either,” said Agatha sarcastically.

“It would be quite an effort to carry heavy tools and equipment over the wall,” replied Cedric defensively, “but I can’t see D’Arcy being very happy about this. Frankly, I’m surprised how patient he has been with the miners. He wouldn’t put up with that from anyone else. But then again he always says how much he respects people who risk their lives for low pay for the benefit of others.”

“Doesn’t look like it would be much of an obstacle anyway,” Krosp remarked, as usual seeing the situation from a military perspective. “You might want to think about strengthening defence.”

“It's more of a wall than a fence, ha ha ha! Um.” said Cedric, discovering that Romanians didn't really get British humour.  “Oh, it won’t keep anyone out who wants to get in,” he added quickly. “A poacher would climb that in no time at all. The point is that, if he is caught by the gamekeepers, he can’t claim that he wandered onto the Duke’s estate and didn’t know he was shooting on his land. No matter how lost he might claim to be, he could hardly have failed to notice climbing the wall.”

As they talked they climbed the hill. Cresting the ridge they could see the Earl’s estate stretching before them, with Edgehill House in the distance, and beyond that the green fields, distant blue hills and wide expanses of ocean. Cedric pointed out the airship spires of the artificial islands that marked the Evesham, Stratford and Birmingham domes, the green slopes of the Malvern islands and on the distant western horizon the blue peaks of Wales. 

They descended the steep slope to a wide lawn with flower beds and ornamental shrubs, where an approximately circular cavern perhaps six metres in diameter opened into the side of the hill. A small stream ran out of the entrance and down into the valley, tumbling over rustic artificial waterfalls and rapids. Set vertically into the hillside nearby was a small green door, completely circular, a little over two metres in diameter. As they approached the door opened and a familiar figure emerged.

“Ah, Hendon,” Cedric hailed his butler. “Do you have everything?”

”Yes, m'Lord. I have brought a change of clothes for you both, Mr Krosp’s coat, your Spanish gun with 100 cartridges, three packets of sandwiches, a bottle of cream and a flask of tea. Oh, and Miss Clay’s carpet bag of course. It is all waiting for you inside.”

“Excellent! We’ll can start right away then!” Cedric led the way in through the door. He explained that this was a small cave, separate from the main cavern system beneath the hill, which had been converted into a summer house by his grandfather for cool picnics on hot summer afternoons. Now it was being used as a storeroom and workshop by Llithrig Yr Wrach when she came to work at the Pit. Inside there was a workbench, tools, lots of shelves containing all manner of engineering equipment and components and of course, a small area for chairs and a table with a kettle, china mugs and a teapot. Krosp sniffed the air dubiously and picked up an unpleasant smell reminiscent of old wet rubber that confirmed his worst suspicions; Llithrig Yr Wrach drank herbal tea. Hendon had already made a brew, thankfully with proper tea, and poured a saucer of cream for Krosp, which was very welcome after their walk. 

“There was one other thing M’Lord,” said Hendon as he served the tea. “Doe asks if there is anything particular our guests would like for supper.” 'Guests', noted Krosp with appreciation. After his treatment at Beaufort Palace, he was pleased that one man at least remembered he was a cat of importance.

“Good point,” replied Cedric. “Is there anything you would like particularly for your evening meal L- Ms Clay?”

“Oh I'm not fussy.” replied Agatha absent-mindedly, her mind far away as she rummaged in her carpet bag to sort out her equipment. “Some good nutritious chow will be fine.”

“Really?” Cedric sounded slightly confused and surprised. “Oh, of course. I'll see what we can do. I'm sure that Doe will be able to come up with something.” He went back outside with Hendon to discuss the catering arrangements while Agatha changed into her working clothes, which to be honest were almost identical to the best dress she had worn to the garden party, just a bit older and more dog-eared, with the addition of her small death ray and a tool belt, without which she didn't feel properly dressed. She transferred all her little clanks to the pockets of her working dress, making sure they were fully wound, then took the opportunity to examine her rival Spark's tools. Although not strictly good manners, Agatha was never able to resist poking around in someone else’s workshop. She was pleased and gratified to see that the tools that Llithrig had created, always a good indication of a craftsman’s skill, were really rather crude.

\---------------*

Ten minutes later they were all ready to go. Cedric had changed out of his morning dress into his oldest Norfolk jacket. Agatha couldn’t help but notice that the Earl looked much happier, more capable and more alive out of his formal attire. He had a flat cap on his head, a bandoleer of shot gun cartridges over his shoulder, the haversack with the sandwiches and tea on his back, the large double-barrelled shotgun under his arm, (broken open as a good sportsman should carry it) and a broad enthusiastic grin on his face. Agatha felt a small twinge of guilt at the gaps in his teeth; but only a small twinge. She carried her small death ray under her arm, powered up. It emitted a low hum and every so often gave a small pop and emitted a shower of sparks.

“What’s the significance of the Spanish shotgun? Is it your best one?” she asked. Like all Heterodynes, she had an unhealthy interest in any kind of weaponry.

“Oh no, this is my worst, cheapest gun. Foreign you know. The sort of thing you give to children when they are first learning to shoot or keep for guests who haven’t one of their own and whom you don’t trust to look after a good one.”

“And you are bringing this one today because…”

“Because I wouldn’t want to use one of my good sporting guns to shoot monsters. It wouldn’t be the done thing at all to use a precision instrument for that!”

“But as this thing will quite probably try and kill us wouldn’t it be better to bring the best…” Agatha saw the uncomprehending look on Cedric’s face and decided not to labour the point, “…never mind.”

The three of them walked over to the cavern entrance. Cedric explained that Llithrig had installed some really clever illuminations to help the miners and walked over to a large blade switch on the wall. Agatha had to fight down a childish impulse to ask to throw the switch herself. When the Earl closed the contacts there was a cough and a splutter that grew into a rhythmic thumping and clattering as a small generator somewhere in the cavern struggled into life. Agatha's experienced ear heard the clanking of metal on metal on each stroke. 'Ha, sloppy tolerances,' she thought to herself with a certain amount of satisfaction in the knowledge that she could have done things better. A series of bare light bulbs strung along the ceiling illuminated, rather reluctantly.  Several of them were out and another blew with a shower of sparks as the power surged and then stabilised.

Just to prove a point, Agatha rummaged in her pockets and activated a few of her little clanks, pushing a lever on each one to illuminate the central lens. Walking or flying on ahead, they provided extra illumination in the shadows.

The cavern sloped gently downwards, forming a tunnel six metres in diameter that led towards the roots of the hill. After fifty metres it emerged into a larger cave. Cedric threw another wall switch and a second generator close by gasped grudgingly awake. A series of lights slowly illuminated, mere sparks of light in the vast darkness. At first Agatha's brain struggled to interpret what her eyes were telling it. Then, there was a change of perspective and she gasped.

The cavern was enormous, stretching away into the distance and high above their heads. The entire hill was hollow, but the cavern wasn't empty. Everywhere were bizarre and misshapen formations of rock, stalactites dropping from the ceiling, stalagmites reaching up from the floor to meet them. There were larger formations, all oddly melted into uncanny shapes that made the cavern into a myriad of small crevices, winding paths and miniature caves. Water ran over everything, the water that over the millennia had eroded away the limestone of the hill and then deposited it into these unworldly forms. The lamps strung apparently at random through the cavern did little to illuminate the darkness. Everywhere there were shadows and the complex rock formations formed ideal cover.

“This is a labyrinth,” Agatha said. “A monster could be concealed for days in a place like this, hiding in the shadows to ambush us before we even knew it was there.”

“If it was going to be easy we wouldn't have needed to ask for help from the best.” Cedric replied. Agatha felt a little frisson of pleasure at the compliment.

“A wise move, because based on what you told me, I've modified this Death Ray to be exactly the tool we need to hunt this monster.” She pushed some buttons on the device and a bright beam of light sprang from a cylinder mounted beneath the barrel to illuminate the cavern for twenty metres in front of them. A small panel displaying a grid of glowing green lines folded up with a precise whir on the top of the death ray where the sight would be on an ordinary gun. Irregular shapes in blue appeared on the grid.

“See, this is a targeting grid that displays all the cavern in a 90 degree arc directly in front of us. As I move it left and right I can see exactly where all the obstacles and the paths are. The blue shapes are the various bits of rock. If there is anything moving in here, it will show up as a red dot.” She pointed the device at Krosp and Cedric to show them detected as small red dots at the bottom of the screen, although in fact the only dots they could see for several minutes were those from the searchlight on the front of the death ray as it was swung round into their eyes and completely destroyed their night vision.

“Ha, let’s see this monster hide from us now! Let's go!” exclaimed Agatha. A guide line had been laid from the entrance to lead the miners to the site of the excavation, so they started off by following that. There was a little argument as to the marching order. Cedric naturally wanted to go first, but Agatha pointed out that she should go first so the scanner wouldn't be blocked by his back. In the end they worked out that there was enough room for them to walk side by side, so they compromised on that. Krosp was happy enough to bring up the rear, although not at all happy about having to walk again, especially as the floor was running with water and his feet got wet. Cedric could hardly carry him if wanted to use his gun. Still, sometimes you just had to accept such appalling discomfort when you are on an Adventure. From his position on the ground he saw something that the humans, intent on looking forwards searching for the monster, had missed.

“The floor of this path is pretty scratched and eroded,” he hissed softly. “There has been a lot of machinery or equipment brought through here. You must be setting up some pretty impressive drilling equipment.”

“Equipment?” said Cedric, puzzled. “I don't think so. The miners use mostly pick axes, sledgehammers, shovels, that sort of thing. They are very set against automation or anything new and innovative. I didn't know that there was anything bigger than the generators down here. There are plans to put in rails for trolleys to get the coal to the surface once...”

“Hush!” said Agatha suddenly. “There's something moving up ahead. About two hundred metres to our left, off the path. Let's go slowly and see if we can sneak up on it.”

They moved forward with caution, away from the guideline. Without Agatha's scanner they could easily have become lost and disorientated in the labyrinthine cavern and they would never have been able to find the monster, if monster it was they were hunting.

“I can only see one target,” whispered Agatha. “It looks about man-sized. Now remember, we don't know that this is a Ravening Monster. We are going to try and talk to it before we shoot it. It's what the Heterodyne boys would have done.” Cedric murmured agreement. Unseen behind them, Krosp rolled his eyes.

They closed the gap with the red dot, which seemed to be moving towards them anyway, almost as though it were trying to circle around behind them. The little clanks fanned out in front         to provide additional illumination.

“Do you think it knows we are here?” whispered Agatha. “If it lives underground it probably has enhanced senses that lets it track in the dark.”

“Possibly,” agreed Krosp, “but then again you should consider the possibility that it can sense our position from that enormous searchlight shining out of the front of your Death Ray.”

“Oh, that, yes, good point.” Agatha pushed a button and the searchlight turned off, leaving them for a moment in darkness until their night vision started to recover again. There was just enough light from the little clanks and the various bulbs in the cavern to see the rock formations that formed the maze around them, suddenly turned to menacing and threatening silhouettes of contorted monsters by the shadows. They slowed their progress and watched the red dot slowly approach them, edging back into a good defensive position with a large rock column behind them to wait for the monster to come to them.

Krosp, with his cat's night vision, saw the monster first. He grasped Agatha's calf and pointed. In the dim light they saw a humanoid shape walking awkwardly on bandy legs, its head lowered, coming towards them. There was a click as Cedric closed his shotgun. Agatha raised her death ray and snapped on the search light. The cavern in front of them was thrown into stark, white light. Momentarily blinded in the glare stood a shambling approximation of a man. It had a low forehead, angled cheekbones, prominent brow ridges, a projecting lower face and a wide nose. Its hair and beard were long and matted. The legs appeared too short for its body but the arms were too long. It was dressed in crude clothes made from randomly stitched together pieces of rag and animal hide. In its hand it carried a large club, little more than a piece of branch. It snarled at them.

“Hello,” called out Agatha uncertainly, “can you understand me? We don't mean you any harm.  We'd like to talk to you and try and help you if we can...” She got no further because the monster raised its club and charged them, uttering a shrill cry that might almost have been words spoken from a throat not developed enough for the purpose. There was no trace of intelligence in its eyes, just an insane malice and an unreasoning hatred of everything that walked upon the surface of the earth.

“Oh what a pity,” said Agatha regretfully, and as the monster raised its club to beat her brains out she shot it. There was a bright yellow flash that started from the muzzle of her Death Ray and ended at the monster's chest. The impact lifted the creature off its feet and propelled it across the cavern, where it slammed into one of the rock formations. It slid to the floor and lay still, a hole blown in its chest and small fires smouldering on its clothing.

“How sad,” Agatha continued. “That was obviously one of the insane ravening monsters and when they get to that stage it really is the kindest thing to put them out of their misery.” She approached the body warily, with Cedric right behind her.

“Are you sure it is dead?” asked the Earl uncertainly.

“Oh, pretty sure. At least, its heart’s stopped beating.”

“Gosh, that’s a rather impressive scanner you’ve got there, or do you have some special Spark device that detects its vital signs?”

“No, I know its heart isn’t beating because I can see it lying on the ground by that rock formation over there.” She indicated a large purplish-red glistening object off to the left of the monster’s body, lying in a spreading puddle of dark liquid. “Watch where you tread.”

“Ew! Righto.”

Agatha bent down to look at the corpse.

“Fascinating! Some kind of construct by the looks of it. Possibly an escapee, but more likely merely abandoned by its Master when it ceased to be useful or entertaining. It’s a scandal how much that goes on; it makes me really angry. A construct is for life, not just for Christmas”. She bent down to have a closer look, pulling out a roll of medical instruments from her tool belt. “Bring some of my little clanks over here please Cedric, so I can examine it properly. We might be able to work out who made it. Most Sparks can’t resist signing their work. Of course, the most likely suspect is the Spark who lives closest to you.” She took off her jacket, rolled up her sleeves and started examining the corpse as her creations clustered around her.

“Llithrig? Oh, no I’m sure she wouldn’t do anything like that.” Cedric assured her. Agatha harrumphed. “Now you’ve met her, don’t you think that she’s a wonderful person?” the Earl enthused. “So graceful and charming and beautiful and clever….”

“She spent most of her time insulting me,” Agatha complained.

“Oh, that is just her way! You mustn’t mind that. I was hoping that once you got to know each other you would work together to solve the problems we have here.”

“I hate to say it, but despite Ms Yr Wrach's undoubted charms, there could be some difficulty in getting her to work together with Agatha.” Krosp told him, walking up now it was clear the danger had passed.

“Ah,” Cedric sounded disappointed. “I was hoping they would combine forces and make a fine team.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” Krosp warned him. “It was like two cats in a sack, if you'll pardon the expression.”

“Well that's hardly my fault,” Agatha exclaimed. “I thought I was extremely tolerant and patient; in the face of extreme provocation I might add.”

“Including the part about Wales being the prettiest part of England?” Krosp asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That was a genuine slip of the tongue. You know I usually take such a pride in being culturally aware.”

Krosp sniffed in disdain. “Right, like that time when you asked the Pope if they had heard about Cappuccino in Milan?” Agatha scowled at him.

“Which Pope was that?” asked Cedric, playing the diplomat.

“The one that likes little boys.” Agatha said with a disgusted sniff.

“That doesn't narrow it down much.”

“It was Innocent LXXII.” Krosp told them.

“Is that the one that doesn't believe in the Devil?” asked Cedric.

“No,” said Krosp. “That's Pious CIV. This is – was – the one that didn't believe in God. After the last papal conclave I suppose he will have found out if he was right or not.”

“Whatever,” said Agatha, and went back to analysing the construct. “Could you be a dear Cedric and take a couple of my little clanks round to search for all the other bits? I doubt whether it will be worth trying to reanimate this, but it'll be good to have everything just in case. As well as the heart, I’m missing a pancreas, a spleen and at least half a left lung.”

Now that the monster was dead, Krosp immediately lost all interest in the Adventure. The various mysteries, false leads and inconsistencies he had uncovered so far had raised his hopes of a story of perfidy, intrigue and treachery, but now it turned out to be just another stray construct causing trouble and this time they wouldn’t even be able to take it home with them to add to their collection. Turning away from Agatha his more-than-human nose caught a whiff of a familiar smell; decay. Something not far away had died, quite some time ago. He thought of the miners missing from the pit and walked off in the direction of the smell. They probably had friends or family who would want to know what happened to them. Not that Krosp cared anything about them, but he knew that once Agatha started on analysing another Spark’s tech she could be busy for hours, so a bit of exploring on his own would help pass the time. Anyway, if there were dead things in the dark they might have attracted some small rodents, always guaranteed to provide excellent entertainment.

He picked up one of the little clanks and got it to walk in front of him to light his way. The dim illumination from its central eye and the overhead bulbs were enough to make the cavern appear like broad daylight to his cat’s nocturnal vision. His nose led him around several rock formations to a hole, easily large enough for a human or the monster construct to get through, that headed steeply downwards and emerged into another chamber, a labyrinth like the cavern above him. There were no strings of bulbs here; the only light came from the eye of the little clank. The smell came from off to his left, where a large mass of limestone formed a low irregular wall. The unfamiliar smell of the construct, a strange mixture of biological and chemical effluent, was stronger down here too. This must have been where it had its lair. Krosp walked around the rock and was not surprised to find three dead bodies. He was surprised to find that they were not miners. There was a man, a woman and a child; a little girl. They had been roughly thrown into the space behind the wall like discarded rubbish. Krosp examined the corpses. The little girl was clutching a small home-made teddy bear that suddenly reminded Krosp of his Papa and the little rag dolls he made on Castle Wulfenbach – and the rather larger versions now back in Mechanicsburg. On the front of the bear the words ‘Abigail’s Best Friend’ had been embroidered. It all looked consistent with a wandering insane ravening monster. Then he noticed something that made his mouth widen into a broad Cheshire grin. Maybe this Adventure wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time after all. 

Suddenly there was a noise from deep within the labyrinthine cavern. A footstep. Then another. The sound of some creature approaching stealthily and making a particularly bad job of it. Krosp froze and all the hair on his tail stood up like a toilet brush.

\--------------*

Agatha was still happily up to her elbows – literally – in dissection. She was starting to get puzzled. This was far more interesting than she had thought.

“You, know Cedric, I don’t think this is a construct at all. I can’t see any of the usual stitching, scars or the other modifications you’d expect to see in a patchwork. Although there is something here that intrigues me. Something familiar, but in an unexpected place. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Not a construct?” asked Cedric, “but this surely isn’t natural. I mean look at that low forehead, the short legs, that sub-human face. Are you saying this creature was born like this? I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in Norfolk. Could it be an American?”

“Don’t be silly. The Americans may have isolated themselves but they’ve surely not gone downhill this fast. You know what this reminds me of? A Neanderthal! A species of human that was still around not so long ago, say no more than a few thousand years. Maybe they didn’t all go extinct after all. Fascinating!”

Cedric frowned in puzzlement. “Just the one? Surely there would have to be at least two.”

“No, more than that. You need at least fifty individuals for a breeding population and at least five hundred to support a viable…” Agatha and Cedric looked at each other in dismayed realisation.

“Oh bugger!” said Cedric.

\-----------*

In the depths of the labyrinth, Krosp very slowly and quietly began to creep backwards towards the main cavern. He could see a hulking shape in the light from the little clank, moving slowly towards him. Then he heard another sound off to his right. He saw another of the creatures emerge from behind a stalagmite. There was another sound to his left, then another. Suddenly, Krosp’s perception shifted. He saw that all the shadows were moving. The cavern was full of figures all slowly converging on him. He realised that the rock beneath the cavern had been hollowed out by the flow of water over thousands of years to form a myriad of tunnels that extended down for who knew how far. It was a labyrinth in three dimensions and Agatha's scanner had detected movement only in two, the highest level of the cavern by the entrance. Beneath them the earth was crawling with monsters and right know most of them were crawling towards Krosp. Very carefully he continued to back out of the cavern towards the shaft. He backed into a stalagmite. It seemed rather softer than the other rocks.

The little clank providing the light slowly tilted backwards and looked up above the cat’s head. It was only a little box made of brass with rudimentary arms and legs and in any sane universe should have been incapable of expressing emotion. However as its gaze went up and up, Krosp saw the horror on its face. He realised the stalagmite at his back was moving. He looked up into a grinning, low-browed slavering face. Krosp expanded himself to full size, arching his back and standing all his fur on end, baring his teeth, unsheathing his claws and hissing menacingly. A large club descended and smashed the little clank into bent metal and sprockets, plunging the cavern into near darkness.

 

“Food,” growled the Neanderthal in a barely human voice and lunged at Krosp. The cat darted between its legs and fled frantically back towards the shaft that led to the upper cavern.

\----------------*

Agatha had just finished cleaning up and was pulling on her jacket while Cedric peered into the shadows, covering her with his shotgun, when Krosp raced towards them on all fours, the fact that he was suffering the discomfort of using his front legs in order to move as fast as possible a sure sign of imminent danger.

“Agatha! Agatha! They’re going to eat me!” he screamed, all thoughts of Imperial dignity forgotten. In hot pursuit came a horde of shadowy, hulking figures, all carrying a crude club. Cedric levelled his gun and pointed it at the onrushing monsters. Agatha hefted her death ray. The Neanderthals stopped just at the edge of the light from the little clanks.

“Wait!” Agatha shouted. “We don’t mean you any harm. Stop, let us talk to you. There is so much we could learn from each other.” There was a tense moment of silence. Then one of the monsters shouted in a guttural voice:

“Looks like meat’s back on the menu boys!” and the Neanderthals charged with a delighted roar, waving their clubs above their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _While attending a convention in Italy, Professoressa Foglio did indeed admit in her blog to asking the inventors of fancy coffee if they had ever heard of Cappuccino._


	7. Death Rays and Menus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne fights the monsters!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not suitable for vegetarians

As the Neanderthals charged Agatha fired her death ray at the ceiling of the cavern, demolishing several stalactites and raining down lumps of limestone on the monsters’ heads. Cedric simply shot the closest two with a fine left and right. The pack paused, buying Agatha, Cedric and Krosp enough time to retreat into the labyrinth of rocks. They backed into a small cave hollowed out by thousands of years of water flow, so they only had a narrow entrance to defend against the horde, with solid rock behind and above them. Unfortunately this also meant that they were trapped in a dead end with nowhere to run.

As the first Neanderthals tried to squeeze through the gap, Cedric had to break open his gun to reload. Agatha decided it was time to put her scruples aside and incinerated the first attacker – and the one behind it and the one behind that, and managed to severely injure the one behind that too – with a single blast from her death ray. More Neanderthals climbed over the bodies, slavering in hatred. Cedric snapped his reloaded gun closed and shot another two, then Agatha fired a second blast, knocking down several more of the monsters like skittles. By now her death ray was emitting increasingly large numbers of sparks and the end was glowing red hot.

A large Neanderthal rushed into the cave entrance and raised a club so big that only it could wield it. Agatha pointed her Death Ray at its head but when she pulled the trigger the device gave out only an apologetic cough and a beam of light that did no more than singe the monster’s eyebrows. As the huge club descended to crush Agatha’s skull Cedric desperately pushed in front of her and raised his own gun to block the blow. There was a splintering of wood as club met stock and the impact forced Cedric down on one knee. The enraged monster raised its club again but Cedric shouldered his gun and shot it at point blank range, then turned and fired at a second Neanderthal that was following up behind. It was a snap shot and not accurate enough to kill. Cedric’s target fell wounded at his feet then crawled forward with fanatical hatred and bit his leg. The Earl clubbed it with the splintered stock of his shotgun, reloaded with a graceful action and shot it again with more permanent effect.

“Er… about that autoloader Lady Heterodyne,” he suggested apologetically, “and those proximity fuses are suddenly starting to look like a very good idea”. Meanwhile Agatha had manipulated a variety of overcomplicated levers and ratchets on her death ray to engage the backup orgone accumulators. She levelled her weapon and blasted through several more of the Neanderthals clustering at the cave entrance – and then it was all over. The pack decided that this meal was not going to be worth the effort. With snarls and threatening gestures they began to back away. Agatha fired a warning shot over their heads and they turned and ran. Within seconds they had melted back into the shadows and holes of the pit.

“Ha!” cried Cedric in triumph. “ _Was none who would be foremost to lead such dire attack; but those behind cried ‘Forward!’ and those before cried ‘Back’_!’”

He inched forward cautiously over the bodies of the fallen Neanderthals and peered out of the tiny cave, covering left and right. Agatha and Krosp advanced warily behind him. Agatha consulted the movement sensor on her Death Ray.

 “They’ve all retreated down to the lower levels,” she assured them. “I suggest that we make a strategic withdrawal back to the surface, wait for my kit to be delivered tonight and then come back in force tomorrow. We can even invite the Little Princess to come along, if she doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty. A few of those miners would be useful too, if we can persuade them to get off their lazy…”

The entire cavern suddenly resounded with a heavy impact. It came again. And again.

“Those,” Krosp unnecessarily informed them, “are footsteps, made by something extremely large.” A deep, loud, monstrous roar and a red illumination of flame came from the depths of the cavern. Agatha looked at the readings on her scanner. It showed a red dot at the limit of its range. Not so much a red dot as a red blob. Something big was moving towards them.

“This is too powerful for any of us,” she announced, concentrating on the information displayed on the screen. Another loud roar, much nearer, echoed from the depths and there was a hiss, like an angry snake. “We cannot stand against this.” She made some more adjustments and came to an executive decision. “RUN!” Looking up from her scanner, she found she was alone. Cedric and Krosp were already sprinting back towards the exit and had fifty yards start. With an extravagant double-take, Agatha picked up her skirts and followed them at full speed.

As Cedric reached the guideline that led back to the outside world he realised that Agatha was not with them and paused, covering her with his gun as she caught up. He was surprised and impressed by her fine turn of speed, not knowing that her combat training mostly consisted of being chased through the streets of Mechanicsburg while being hit with a big stick. Agatha did not slow down as she careered past, nearly trampling him underfoot. Her considerable momentum and the clatter of her sensible outdoor shoes on the rock reminded him of a speeding Corbettite express.

“Fly you fool!” she shouted back over her shoulder. As he turned to leave, Cedric saw at the back of the cave, outlined for a brief moment by a red glow of fire, a gigantic reptilian head, covered in scales, with an enormous carnivore’s mouth filled with teeth. He needed no further incentive to follow his two guests. Out of breath and pouring with sweat, he arrived at the tunnel that led to the outside world and ran up it into the daylight. Agatha and Krosp were waiting for him on the green bank. Agatha had her death ray pointing at the entrance and was looking at the scanner again.

“OK, I think it has stopped,” she assured them. “At least I can’t see it moving. If something like that wanted to come outside I’m pretty sure you would have noticed it before now.”

“I saw it! I saw it!” shouted Cedric. “It was a dinosaur! A Tyrannosaurus Rex!”

“A dinosaur? Are you sure? You recognised it as a T. Rex?”

“Well to be honest that’s the only large meat-eating dinosaur I know, but I saw a big scaly lizard head with lots and lots of teeth.” He turned to cover the exit with Agatha. Checking his gun, he was ashamed to find that he had been running with it closed and fully loaded.

“If I might make a suggestion,” said Krosp, “this is hardly a defensible position should this giant monster or any of those other creatures decide to make a sally into the daylight. I propose that we go into the summer house cave. We can keep the doors ajar to watch if anything comes out and then either attack it from behind or, more sensibly, hide in there and hope it doesn’t spot us.” Cedric and Agatha exchanged a look and nodded their approval. Fortunately Hendon had left the little cave unlocked. With the doors safely closed behind them, Agatha, Krosp and Cedric breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry I didn’t wait for you,” Cedric told Agatha, feeling it was time to apologise for his unchivalrous behaviour in the cavern. “I assumed you were right behind. I should have made sure you were with us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Agatha assured him. “Thanks for the save back there. If it hadn’t been for you that Neanderthal would have brained me.” She gave him a broad appreciative smile, which Cedric found rather appealing. He looked at his gun ruefully. The wooden stock was bent and splintered.

“My pleasure let me assure you. Made a bit of a mess of my gun though. You see? I told you it wouldn’t be wise to bring one of my good ones.”

“Once all my equipment arrives I’ll fix it for you and make it better! I’m sure you can see the benefits after our little Adventure today!” Cedric was still not entirely convinced.

“I suppose so, but really, I don’t suppose I could just have one of your ray guns?”

Agatha looked at her death ray, still glowing red. Wisps of smoke were coming from inside. There was a sudden discharge of electrical energy and one of its access panels was launched across the room with a loud pop to clatter against one of the equipment racks. Cedric frowned.

“Actually, perhaps I’ll just stick with a standard shotgun.”

Glancing down, Agatha noticed blood running from the Earl's calf and dripping onto the floor where he had been bitten by the Neanderthal.

“I'd better clean and bandage that leg, Cedric,” she told him. “Take your pants off.”

“My pants?” Cedric blushed.

“Oh please, you're not shy are you? Don't worry, I had a lot of training at Transylvania Poly. I've seen it done dozens of times.”

Cedric's expression eloquently displayed his confidence in the academic standards of foreign Universities, but he did as he was told while Agatha went and rummaged in her carpet bag to hunt out the medical pack. Turning back, she was reminded of the subtle differences between English as it was spoken in its native country and the merchant dialect she learnt at Transylvania Polygnostic University.

“No! No!!” she shrieked, spinning round away from him, her face glowing bright red. “Trousers! Not pants! _Trousers_!”

“I was wondering,” said Cedric, equally embarrassed, as he pulled his underpants back on.

Agatha cleaned the wound, put in a couple of stitches and bandaged it without another word and without making eye contact, while Krosp stood by the door and watched for monsters. By the time she had finished it was clear that there would not be any pursuit. They emerged into the evening sunlight and carefully peered into the cavern. Agatha’s scanner detected no movement within. Carefully they went along the entrance tunnel to the main cavern and scanned for movement. Still nothing.

“I hope we are safe for now,” said Agatha. “Let’s get back to the house. Whatever is in there hasn’t bothered you so far. Tomorrow we’ll be in a better position to take the fight to them.”

“I only hope we haven’t stirred them up and made them angry,” replied Cedric uncertainly.

“Hah!” exclaimed Krosp. If today has taught them anything, it’s that we weren’t in the Pit with them! They were in the Pit with us! They’ll be the ones hiding tonight!” As they left the cave they shut down the generators, which sounded as though they had had quite enough use for one day. Locking the door of the summer house, they walked back down the valley to Edgehill House. There was still an hour until sunset. The birds were singing in the trees. A few late bees buzzed lethargically among the flowers. In so beautiful a setting it was difficult to believe that the fight in the cavern could ever have happened. Nevertheless they could not resist some nervous glances back behind them as they made their way home.

\--------------------*

They went round to the ‘game’ door at the back of the house, an entrance convenient for the gun room and the larders, so returning shooting parties could drop off their guns and the day’s bag without carrying them through the house. As they walked past the kitchens Agatha and Krosp both gagged at the smell.

“What is that? Is there something wrong with the drains?” Agatha asked, appalled. Cedric frowned in puzzlement.

“Drains? No, I don’t think so.” He sniffed the air. “Oh, that. Nothing to worry about there, that’s just the cauliflower cooking for dinner.”

“Cauliflower? Seriously? You eat something that smells like that?”

“Oh no.  To be honest I don’t really like it myself.”

“Then why do you have it?”

“Well, it’s good for you,” Cedric said defensively. Agatha didn’t bother to argue.

Miss Gaunt met them in the main hall with an air of stern disapprobation. As Cedric described the day’s Adventure Agatha was reminded of a small boy trying to explain to his mother why he had come home with dirty, torn clothes, a broken gun and an injured leg. They had to recount the entire episode in the cavern before Miss Gaunt was satisfied and even then they could tell that she strongly disapproved of the entire disreputable incident.

“There is one thing that you should know,” added Krosp. “When I ran into the Neanderthals I found the Wellesley’s bodies, down below the main cavern. You were right. They didn’t leave of their own free will. These monsters aren’t only a danger to farm animals.”

“All of them, even the little girl?” Cedric looked genuinely upset by the news. “That… that’s terrible. Really awful. That such things should happen here in Britain…” There was a catch in his voice and he turned away, unmanned by a moment of noble emotion.

“Don’t worry my Lord,” said Miss Gaunt, her demeanour softening, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I will tell the staff to be on the alert tonight, make sure everything is shut away and that all the doors and windows are locked, that sort of thing. And I will send a note to the local constable down in the village so he can go round to warn all the neighbouring farms that there may be monsters about. Now, I suggest you all get bathed and changed for dinner. We’ve been expecting you back after a long day, so there should be plenty of hot water.”

“Thanks,” Cedric told her gratefully. “I don’t know what I’d do without you to look after everything for me. We’d better send a message over to D’Arcy’s place too. I hope Ms Yr Wrach will be alright. Such a sweet innocent defenceless girl. I’d hate for anything to happen to her.” He moved away down the hall towards his own rooms. “I’ll see you in the library in about half-an-hour,” he called back over his shoulder to his guests, almost as an afterthought. 

“Sweet, innocent, defenceless indeed,” muttered Agatha at his retreating back. “Harumph! Come on Krosp, let’s see if we can get a hot bath before supper.”

\-----------------------*

Half an hour later a bathed-and-brushed Agatha walked into the library feeling much more human. Krosp and Cedric were already there, comparing the strategies of the Wulfenbach and British Empires. Cedric was surprising knowledgeable on the subject.

“You see, Albia's Empire isn't built on military conquest like Baron Wulfenbach,” he explained to Krosp. “It's built on trade, with the products of British industry exported to the colonies in return for raw materials that are shipped back here to be used in production. It's a system that's mutually beneficial to everyone so a large standing army like the Baron needs on the Continent isn't necessary to keep order. No, what the Empire needs is a strong navy, in the air, on the sea and under it, to protect the trade routes. The rule of thumb is that the fleet should be strong enough to defeat those of the combined forces of the two strongest continental powers.”

“And what about Albia herself?” asked Agatha, more interested in personalities than politics. “She's been keeping herself going for an awfully long time now. Doesn't that worry anyone?”

“Worry? Why ever would anyone worry? Our dear, dear Queen remains on the throne. Long May She Reign Over Us, Happy and Glorious!”

“I mean, in Europa, if an aristocrat dies and gets reanim-  er, I mean rejuvenated, they still count as being dead and the title passes on to their successor.”

“That may be the way things are done on the Continent, but we wouldn't dream of enforcing a rule like that with our beloved Queen.”

‘I bet you wouldn't,’ thought Krosp, who was familiar with some of the less savoury aspects of Queen Albia's reign. ‘I wish I could get my hands on that tech.’

“That's right,” continued Cedric happily. “You see, Queen Albia not only Rules the Waves, she also Waives the Rules!  HAHAHAHAHAHA… Ho ho ho ho ho ho... hee.. hee.. um.” His open, hearty laughter faded into silence under the glare of Agatha and Krosp's cold, silent, hostile stares. “I'll...  er... I'll just go and rustle you up a nice cup of tea before supper. Do feel free to browse.” He left the room as fast as he could without actually running.

Agatha never needed an excuse to look through someone else’s' library. She was surprised to see a good selection of technical and reference works, but not at all surprised that none of them showed any sign of ever having been read. Moving along, she found a row of much cheaper, colourfully bound books that had obviously seen much more use.

“Hey, he's got all the Trelawney Thorpe books,” she enthused. “I wonder if he has ‘Glass Dirigible?’ Ah, here we go. I only got as far as chapter four before... Oh, and he has the one about the Iron Sheik that was Gil's favourite. Funny how this one looks so much more worn than the rest, exactly like Gil's. Must have been a bad batch from the binders.” She put both books under her arm and moved along the shelves.

“Oh and he's got all the Heterodyne Boys books too. Translated from the original Romanian of course. This is great. Hey, this is a new one. The Heterodyne Boys and the Airship City. No wait.” She read the title again more carefully. “Agatha Heterodyne and the Airship City. What?!”

She started flicking through the book in surprise, horror and finally mounting fury. “This is all about me! They... they've put in the part about me running around Castle Wulfenbach in my underwear. And where I came out into the dormitory and everyone thought I was von Zinzer's lover. And me kissing Gil.”  Her voice rose an octave. “And…and... there are _pictures_.” Krosp used his claws to walk up Agatha’s back and began reading over her shoulder.

“If it tells the truth, then the more people read it the better. Let's hope they do another one to tell everyone about really happened at Sturmhalten. Hey, hey, good one of me there. They could tone down the colours a bit though.” Agatha looked at the spine and made a careful note of the authors' names.

“On the way back to Europa, I think I will have to pay a visit to Transylvania Polygnostic University and have a little talk with these Professor Foglios.”

There was a knock at the door. Miss Gaunt let herself in while holding a tray laden with teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, tea cups and saucers and the best silver apostle tea spoons; a dark and secret art taught to servants in Britain at an early age.

“Ah, has his Lordship left?” she asked. “Still, I’m sure he would not want you to wait. Should I pour?”

“Yes please,” said Agatha, still engrossed in the bookshelves.

“I see you have found his Lordship’s favourite books,” said Miss Gaunt as she stirred the pot. “He is not much of a reader, but he does so like tales of adventure. You know, it must be so nice to have Adventures and then have stories written about them that bring so much pleasure to so many people.”

Agatha looked up sharply from her book, afraid that Miss Gaunt might have worked out who she really was, but the housekeeper’s face was a study of bland innocence.

“Here my dear,” she said handing Agatha a cup and saucer. “What you need is a nice cup of tea. And of course, there is a nice saucer of milk for your cute little kitten.” She placed the Imperial Saucer on the reading table, rather than on the floor. Krosp was so pleased he even said thank you. Agatha sat down at the table with him to drink her tea. She realised Miss Gaunt had been right; it really was exactly what she needed.

The housekeeper was clearly somewhat nervous about the prospects of Monsters from the Pit roaming the countryside during the night and she asked Agatha a string of questions about the possible threat. ‘How many monsters might there be? Were they all these strange sub-humans? What about this giant dinosaur the Earl saw?’ Agatha did her best to calm her fears, describing in detail the equipment that would soon be arriving in her airship and her plans to deal with the monsters. Soon, Agatha felt she had built enough of a rapport with the servant to ask some questions of her own.

“Excuse me if this is an indiscreet question,” she asked the housekeeper uncertainly, “but is there any, um, understanding between the Earl and the Duke's niece, Ms Yr Wrach? They were spending an awful lot of time together at the garden party and they seemed to be getting on extremely well.”

“I don't think it would be indiscreet of me to say that the Earl rather likes Ms Yr Wrach,” replied Miss Gaunt.

“Oh, I see.” Agatha was a little sad and maybe a little jealous. “And are the feelings mutual?”

“God bless you dear.” said Miss Gaunt. I don't believe Miss Wrach cares two figs for the Earl. What she likes is that the Earl likes her. She does like to have men running after her like puppy dogs does that one.”

“Why?” Agatha asked, puzzled.

“Well, I suppose the feeling of power,” replied Miss Gaunt. “It makes her feel good about herself that men find her desirable. Doesn't it make you feel special when a young man takes an interest in you?”

Agatha reviewed the recent past.

“Well, I suppose so, but it does seem to create an awful lot of trouble.”

“Ah, dear, that's probably because you like them back. It's much easier if you don't get attached to them, like Ms Wrach.”

Cedric put his head around the door to see if it was safe to come back in. He seemed mildly surprised when his housekeeper proffered him a cup of tea, but accepted it anyway. Agatha decided to ask about something else that had been puzzling her.

“Why did so many of the men bring their nieces to the garden party? Is it some British cultural thing to bring a female relation?”

“Oh no,” Miss Gaunt told her, “calling them their 'niece' is nicer and more discreet than saying 'mistress' or 'kept woman'. You see, the Duke’s little luncheons are an opportunity for the local gentry to spend a little, ahem, quality time away from their wives.”

“Oh, I see.” Agatha took a large mouthful of tea, which was unfortunate as she suddenly remembered a very significant detail at precisely the wrong moment, inhaled instead of swallowed and sprayed Darjeeling out through both nostrils.

“Ach! Agh! Bleugh...! But...but... you introduced me as your niece!” she spluttered accusingly at Cedric. “That means that they all thought that I was... that we are...!” Her face hardened with sudden resolution. “Right! This is it!” she announced, looking around for a suitable blunt instrument, “I am going to kill him!” Cedric backed away in alarm.

“But…. But it was only a ruse, Miss Clay. It's an excellent cover story. Nobody suspected who you really were at all! The perfect way to hide you in plain sight.”

Agatha scowled at him, but couldn’t fault his logic.

“Hrmph! I suppose so,” she grumbled. Cedric breathed a sigh of relief. Agatha was still disgruntled.  “Anyway! All those women walking around showing off their bodies like that! Do they honestly thing that all they need to do to attract a rich and powerful husband is walk around in their underwear?” Cedric considered for a moment.

“Well, it worked for the Duchess of Cambridge.”

Further discussions were curtailed by Hendon ringing the gong to announce that dinner was served. Agatha walked through to the dining room on Cedric’s arm. Despite her earlier indignation she found the experience of even this innocent physical contact rather pleasant. The walls of the dining room were lined by potted plants and gave the room the semblance of a small forest. The food was excellent, with the exception of the cauliflower, which still smelt of stale urine despite having been boiled for three hours, so they all left it in its dish in the middle of the table. The Earl had a lightly grilled Dover sole. Agatha and Krosp tucked into a stew, specially prepared for them as Doe the cook’s idea of Europan cuisine.

Agatha was struck by a sudden thought. “Don't you think that there was something odd about those Neanderthals that attacked us?” she asked.

“What apart from being Neanderthals?” sniffed Krosp sarcastically. “Odd isn't quite the word I would use. One of them said he wanted to eat me!”

“No, he didn't,” replied Agatha, “and that's the odd thing. The exact words he used were 'Meat's back on the menu'. I was just wondering where, exactly, a Neanderthal would ever have seen a menu.”

“Not to mention they happened to speak English,” Krosp added. Cedric paused, with his fork full of fish half way to his mouth.

“What’s so unusual about that?” he asked, puzzled.

Agatha and Krosp exchanged a look and concentrated on their meal.

“This is really good chow,” exclaimed Agatha as she began her second helping of the spicy meat. “What is it, lamb?”

“No, spaniel, I think,” replied Cedric, pleased by the praise of his guest.

Agatha stopped in mid-chew, trying to find alternative meanings to the words. Some strange English slang....

“I hope it is agreeable,” Cedric continued. We particularly wanted to make you feel at home but when you asked for a chow we couldn't get one at such short notice, but fortunately there is always a surplus in the kennels so we...”

“ _Kennels_?! You mean I'm eating a _dog_?!”

“Er, well yes. Isn't that what you asked for?”

“I...! You...!” Agatha was winding up to an industrial strength full blown Heterodyne Rant when her brain received an imperative override from her stomach. Turning deathly pale, she stood up slowly from the table.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she said carefully and walked towards the door with quiet dignity. Half way across the room she realised that there would not be time to reach the lavatory after all, so she rushed with unseemly haste into the cover of the potted plants and was horribly sick in the aspidistra. The Earl looked at Krosp in embarrassment. The dense silence of an Englishman in an awkward social situation filled the room. Fortunately Hendon, an ex-military man and veteran steward at many a regimental dinner in the officer's mess, had long experience of such situations. He turned briskly to one of the footmen.

“Roy, Miss Clay has been taken ill. Please step down to the kitchens and ask Beryl to come up to the dining room with a mop and bucket.” He craned his neck around the plants, where a forlorn leg, clad in a respectable red and white striped stocking and a sensible outdoor shoe poked out from between the pots. There was further powerful retching and an unpleasant semi-solid splattering. “Tell her, a big bucket.” The footman hurried away.

“So,” remarked the Earl, awkwardly, “You don't mind curried dog, Herr Krosp?”

The cat shrugged and reached across for Agatha's plate.

“Best sort.”

\--------------------------

Sometime later a pale and shaken Agatha sat on the edge of the bed in her room, recovered enough to take a small glass of water, although a large metal bucket remained close at hand, just in case.

“How can they eat dogs?” she complained. “I mean, what sort of people are they? I thought the British loved their dogs?”

“Of course they don't eat dogs, but they think that we do,” replied Krosp.

“What, in Europa?”

“Well, they eat dogs in China.  As far as they are concerned we are from the East of here so they assume we do too. We're all foreign after all. The Chinese have dogs especially for food and the breed is called a chow, so when you asked for chow... And the British do like dogs as pets, but their working dogs for hunting are just like any other farm animal and they don't get sentimental about them. They'll soon knock one on the head if it isn't up to the job – or if they need to make a meal for a special guest with unusual dietary requirements. Look on the bright side. It could have been worse – they might have served us fox.”

Agatha shivered and hugged herself. “I really, really hate this place.”

“Still you must admit, the way they seasoned it with those chillies it actually tasted really good. We should get the recipe to take home with us”.

“Don't even think about it!” Agatha retorted. Krosp decided it was time to change the subject.

“So if you've quite recovered, we didn't really get much further today did we?”

“Well at least we know there are monsters down in the pit. Not just the Neanderthals. Something bigger. Something reptilian with scales if we believe Cedric.”

“More prehistoric creatures? You're not really thinking dinosaurs are you? You think they’ve Unearthed some kind of Hollow World beneath the hill?”

“No don't be silly. Neanderthals lived relatively recently and only died out a few tens of thousands of years ago. It's not outside the realms of possibility that there may still be some surviving colonies in the remote places of the world like Britain. Dinosaurs lived millions and millions of years ago. Just because we have Neanderthals running around there's no logical reason there should be dinosaurs. There was a red glow of fire down there when the monster appeared. No, I'm thinking more – dragon.”

“Oh right.” Krosp rolled his eyes sceptically. “You know, this would be an ideal job for the Jägers. Hand-to-hand fighting with monsters through a dark maze; they would love it. They've been complaining it's been far too long since they’ve any fun too.”

“Now, we've been through all this already. Remember our last visit to Britain? After that incident with Dimo, the bunny slippers and the novelty souvenir of the Awful Tower if any Jäger from Mechanicsburg so much as sets foot in Britain Albia has promised an invasion of Europa that will make the Long War look like a scuffle outside of a kebab shop on a Saturday night.”

“So? She’d lose.”

“Not the point.”

“I suppose so. But the Jägers are going to sulk about this when they find out they weren't invited.” He lowered his voice and came closer to Agatha to make sure that he was not overheard. “I'll tell you one more interesting fact that I was not going to mention in front of our host. The Wellesleys – they weren't killed by the Neanderthals. When I looked at their bodies, they'd been shot and not with a conventional gun either. If I'm any judge each of them had been shot at close range in the back of the head with a small, low powered Death Ray.” Agatha looked at him in amazement.

“Are you sure? That – that’s horrible. But who could have done it?” Her face darkened with suspicion. “So far as we know there’s only one other Spark in this Adventure.”

“While I’m inclined to agree with you, let’s not jump to conclusions, simply because she doesn’t feed adorable hungry cats. Don’t let your natural dislike cloud your judgement. I still don’t trust anything that I’ve seen or heard here. Anything at all!”

“You’re right. We need to analyse the data in a calm, logical and dispassionate manner and make our inferences accordingly. Still think she did it though!”

“Anyway, first things first,” Krosp continued. “If you are feeling better it's time we went over to meet the airship.”

Agatha sighed with relief. “Let’s go. So far we’ve only been reacting to events. It’s time we seized the initiative and for that we need all my equipment. Hmm, I wonder if they have a few of jars of Mechanicsburg pickled snails that I can requisition. After British coffee, pork pie, boiled cauliflower and chow curry, I need some proper wholesome food!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Can’t help thinking that there should have been at least one bridge in there somewhere._
> 
> _A friend of mine from the Americas works in the British National Health Service. Although she’s been over here for several years she still makes the embarrassing pants / trousers confusion at least once a week._


	8. The Holzauge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne acquires a Secret Lair_

Running on silent electric backup with its vril generators shut down, the Heterodyne armed transport _Holzauge_ almost seemed to materialise in the night sky, visible only as a black silhouette against the field of stars. As she turned for her final approach she activated small landing lights to provide just enough illumination to safely shoot her pneumatic land anchors into the ground and winch herself down to a perfect landing.

Agatha, Krosp and Cedric watched the display of precision airmanship with appreciation (yes, I know that is terribly unprogressive of me, but I’ll be damned before I use the word airpersonship). They were screened from the main house by a small wood, placed by the landscape architect to hide a large ugly barn that would have quite spoiled his vision of rural paradise. In doing so he had also provided an ideal hidden location for Agatha to set up her Secret Lair. It would have been much more convenient to set up everything in a couple of the many huge unused rooms in Edgehill House, but somehow a Secret Lair never feels quite right if it is in plain sight. Anyway, Cedric had heard lots of stories about Sparks and he certainly had no objection to his ancestral home being well away from any unforeseeable freak accidents. The fact that he thought half a mile would be a safe distance goes to show how little practical experience he had of Sparks and their works.

The Earl had finally stopped apologising for the unfortunate mistake over the dinner arrangements and Agatha had almost, but not quite, forgiven him. At least her stomach had settled down and she was munching on a bar of really excellent British milk chocolate as she watched her airship settle on the ground and lower its loading ramp. At the front of the _Holzauge’s_ equipment-laden hold stood a familiar bearded figure with a permanent slightly surprised, slightly exasperated and slightly terrified expression, preparing to supervise the unloading. Although she was delighted to see her hardware arriving (a Spark feels vulnerable without a proper Secret Lair and a few minions close at hand) there was a more important question worrying Agatha as she bounded up the ramp to meet him.

“How is Violetta?” she asked Moloch von Zinzer, anxiously. “Have you received any heliographs from Mechanicsburg at Fish Hill?”

“Don’t worry, she’s well on the mend,” Moloch assured her. “Climbing up the walls and demanding to be discharged from hospital of course. Dr Sun says she’s the worst patient he’s had since Baron Wulfenbach.”

“Excellent! Tell her I’ve been worried about her, won’t you?”

“Ha! She’s the one that’s been fussing like a mother hen because you are out on an Adventure without her to look after _you_!”

“And she’s alright about the…, well you know…” Moloch frowned and considered his reply carefully.

“Hm… Actually I think there might be a distinct possibility she may be just a little bit… er… miffed. There she was finally going to get to go to a party and wear a pretty dress and do girly stuff but then there was the unfortunate… er accident when she was going to put it on and it was torn to shreds before she’d even worn it. I don’t think she blames you though. Not much.” He had his fingers crossed behind his back. He thought it best not to mention that the Smoke Knight was no longer using a picture of Tarvek for her knife throwing target practice.

“Oh dear. That steam-powered bodice tensioner seemed such an obvious labour saving idea at the time, but it’s impossible to guard against these unpredictable freak accidents you know. Still it sounds as though she hasn’t suffered any permanent damage and I’ll make it up to her when I get back. We’ll organise another grand ball and I’ll buy her an even prettier dress! This time I’m sure my invention will work perfectly!”

Moloch gave Agatha one of his long steady silent looks that she found so difficult to interpret. She was sure that in some subtle, subliminal way, von Zinzer was trying to tell her something, but she could never understand what. She had asked other Sparks about this strange quirk of his but they were all equally as mystified; even Tarvek, who was usually the Meister of body language. “I’m sure she’ll really, really appreciate that,” Moloch said non-committedly.

“So did you get the list of all the things I need unloaded?” asked Agatha, dismissing the problem from her mind.

“Yes no problem. The little flying clank brought your message right on time. Should be most of the things you need right here. There are one or two minor spares I’d like to stock up on. At Fish Hill they said there was a hardware shop down in the village. OK if I nip down in the morning?”

“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem. How’s your English?”

“Not great to be honest. Think they’ll speak Romanian? Sorry, stupid question. If I write down a list I should be fine. Anyway, do you need any technicians,” (Moloch was careful not to use the ‘m’ word), “to stay on the ground and give you a hand?”

“Best if most of you wait in the airship back at Fish Hill unless I call. I would appreciate if you and another mi- mechanic could stay behind to set everything up for me. Maybe Fraulein Florence?”

“Fine, but if it’s OK with you I’ll ask Fraulein Snaug. Flo’s been a bit odd with me lately. That ‘Ravening Monster’ incident shook her up more than she’ll admit.”

“Fine,” agreed Agatha, “bring whoever you want. Remember that we need to keep a low profile. I was thinking a talking bipedal female wolf would attract less attention that Fraulein Snaug.”

“Don’t worry,” Moloch assured her, “I’ll make sure Snaug keeps taking her medication - and stays away from the power tools of course.”

“Your call then. I need to do some important work tomorrow, so if you could get everything set up in the barn ready for first thing.”

“Sure, we’ll get right on it. So, er… how are things going?”

“Not bad so far. We’ve uncovered a nest of monsters in the caves beneath that hollow hill over there and with all my equipment we should be able to deal with them. We still haven’t found the _éminence grise_ though.”

Moloch stroked his beard and frowned. “Hm, I don’t think we’ve got any of that. There’s a big tub of standard bearing lubricant, or there’s some high temperature molybdenum cog grease that might do.”

Agatha sighed. “No, never mind. Er, you won’t want a bonus for working through the night?” she asked, thinking of her encounter with the Welsh miners. Moloch looked at her, puzzled.

“No, although I’m sure no-one will object if you...”

“Oh look there’s my battle armour,” exclaimed Agatha brightly. She walked further into the hold, where a large humanoid clank was about to be unloaded. It was based on the Sunday best armour of Vorthang Heterodyne, but it was green, with more feminine curves. It was one of the few pieces of equipment that Agatha had not built herself. Normally she preferred to employ her own creations of Mad Science on an Adventure, but this had been a present so it would have been rude not to bring it out and use it.  By the access ladder leading to the main crew gondola she met Captain Kwicherbichen, the commanding officer of the dirigible, overseeing unloading operations in person.

“Dakota, is everything going OK?” Agatha asked her. “No problems getting away for the night flight.”

“None whatsoever,” the Captain replied. “No-one raised an eyebrow. We’d already explained how we’d been having a little trouble with some of the blind navigation equipment and how we were going to go for a little flight round the block to try it out. We’ve heliographed to say there are a few engine glitches so we are descending to ground level by the lights of a settlement until we get things sorted out. No problem at all. Except of course now they all think the _Holzauge_ is a complete hangar queen.”

“All part of a necessary deception. Trust me, compared to what I had to pretend to be today you’ve got off lightly.” Captain Kwicherbichen did not look convinced that anything could be worse than her ship and crew getting a bad reputation. There was the purr of a powerful but perfectly balanced engine and the two ladies stood to one side as Agatha’s death knight armour was driven off the airship. Behind it lumbered an even larger clank, gleaming metallic and razor sharp. A true piece of Mad Science created back in Mechanicsburg by a Girl Genius determined to solve the problem of The Pit. Agatha watched it trundle after the death knight armour with justifiable pride and so missed Dakota Kwicherbichen’s sigh of relief that the Abomination of Science was finally off her airship.

“Captain, I think that’s the last of it,” cried the duty officer from inside the cargo bay.

“You think, Lieutenant Kijé?” retorted the Captain, turning on the man. “Don’t think! Find out if everything has been unloaded or not!” Having found an outlet for her ill-humour, she turned back to Agatha. “So, Lady Heterodyne, if it’s OK with you, assuming that really is the last of it, we’ll get the _Holzauge_ back in the air and limp shamefaced back to Fish Hill like the bunch of incompetent foreigners they think we are. We’ll be ready if you need us; just whistle.”

“Thanks Dakota,” replied Agatha. “Have a good flight. Hopefully now we know what’s going on it will only take a couple of days to sort everything out.” Captain Kwicherbichen turned and climbed back up the ladder to the bridge while Agatha walked back down the ramp to help with the installation of her Secret Lair. The ramp closed and the ground anchors disengaged. As quietly as it had arrived, the _Holzauge_ lifted into the sky and melted back into the starlit night.

In the barn everyone was soon hard at work to get everything unpacked. Cedric lent a hand, which is to say he picked things up and put them down again where they told him to. Krosp supervised, which is to say he found somewhere warm and high up out of the way from where he could watch the others do the work. As she set up a lathe, Agatha discussed their next steps with him.

“If I'm going to have to work with this... this other Spark,” she mused, “then you’re right, I'll need to show a bit more cultural sensitivity. I know! There was a Welsh / English dictionary and grammar book in the library. If I start early tomorrow I can make a translator so everything is voice-controlled in Welsh. That'll show her that I respect her culture!”

“Not to mention that she just told you that Welsh is very difficult to master so you are about to learn it and create a translating clank in a few hours. Nothing at all to do with showing who the stronger Spark is?”

“Of course not.” Agatha assured him unconvincingly. “Now, I think we’ve done everything we can here. Let’s leave von Zinzer and Snaug to finish with the installation and head back to the house. It’s been a long day and we’ve got another one in store tomorrow. We’ll need a good night’s rest.”

Together, Agatha, Krosp and Cedric walked back to Edgehill House. As Cedric gave his outdoor coat to a maid, Agatha noticed that he was wearing his target shooting pistol in a holster on his belt.

“Just in case there were any Neanderthals prowling around,” he explained as they climbed the stairs to their bedrooms. “I’m not sure how effective it will be, but carrying a shot gun would have been far too dramatic.” Agatha frowned. In her opinion, dramatic was good. She wished Cedric goodnight and went into her bedroom. She thought twice before she finally decided to lock the door behind her.

“We really need to give Cedric a proper Death Ray,” she remarked to Krosp as she changed into her nightgown. “These little toys of his aren’t effective enough against real monsters.”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Krosp, unconvinced. “He’ll be much more effective with the guns he’s used to. Give him a real weapon and he’s liable to blow his foot off. Anyway, we still don’t know what is really going on here and until we do we need to make sure that we are the only ones with heavy ordnance.”

“But surely, Cedric isn’t involved in anything sinister?” asked Agatha, lifting Krosp off the exact centre of the enormous double bed so she could climb in. “You know,” she added with a little winsome smile as she snuggled beneath the blankets, “I think he rather likes me.” With a disdainful sniff the Emperor of All Cats curled up at the foot of the bed without another word.

Agatha read herself to sleep with the adventures of Trelawney Thorpe and the Iron Sheik. She was shocked to discover that a Seraglio was not, as she had assumed, anything at all like an imbroglio. At first she was rather scandalised. By page 25 she was taking notes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Astute students of the life of Agatha Heterodyne may be surprised that she was not familiar with the word 'Seraglio' as she does, after all, possess one of her own, even if she doesn't use it very often. However the student must remember that she would have used the Romanian word 'Serai' for her own suite in Castle Heterodyne, while the Trelawney Thorpe books, written in English, used the word 'Seraglio'._


	9. The Curse of the Heterodyne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne watches all that she has sought brought to nought_

Agatha was up very early the next morning. She had already taken the Welsh language books over to her Secret Lair and started work before even Beryl the scullery maid was awake. When a Spark is running in full-on creative mode, they really don’t need all that much sleep, although after several days it can suddenly all catch up with them and they either fall asleep without warning or have a full scale psychotic incident. By the time they’ve been Sparking for several days, the psychotic incident can be quite difficult to spot. Krosp was also up early – or at least he had woken up in good time and then gone to sleep again outside on the terrace in a patch of sunlight to make sure he didn’t miss Mr MacLeod’s morning bagpipes. So by the time that Cedric came down to breakfast, both of his guests had already had a productive morning, at least by their own different definitions of ‘productive’.

All the meat dishes, laid out in their serving trays on the sideboard, were carefully labelled with the type of animal of which they had originally been components. The domestic staff's efforts were wasted as Agatha pointedly kept to the fruit. Any lingering embarrassment or resentment over the dinner debacle was forgotten once the morning newspapers arrived, full of the dramatic news of the death of the dashing and romantic air pirate Jack Harrow, who had been found, together with the rest of his crew and the remains of his airship, scattered over a wide area of a remote Scottish moorland on the island of Cairngorm. The sensational reports said the Slack Furl had apparently been blown apart in mid-air by a powerful death ray. Agatha was careful to make non-committal remarks and avoid eye contact as Cedric exclaimed over the newspaper articles.

“Anyway Cedric,” Agatha said as they finished breakfast, “we need to discuss a plan of campaign for today. I’ll finish up the modifications to my latest inventions over at my Secret Lair. If you would like to go over to the Duke’s place and tell him what happened yesterday then maybe his little Spark can find something that might actually be useful. We could certainly do with some help from the miners too. They are supposed to be the experts in working underground after all, though doubtless they’ll find some excuse to avoid anything that might actually count as work.”

“Tell them we’ll find some red shirts for them to wear,” said Krosp with a smirk. Agatha scowled at him.

 “If they are being awkward,” she continued, “why don’t you suggest that Ms Yr Wrach adopt a few ‘artistic’ poses to persuade them to cooperate.” Cedric was hurt by such scorn towards a fine young woman, but he sensibly kept his thoughts to himself as Agatha continued. “I suggest we all meet up at Wamblecropt Farm. I’ll bring my kit over there, Ms Yr Wrach can bring a magic crystal or a lump of rock or whatever else she imagines she has that can be of any use whatsoever and we can collect any miners who are out of bed yet. Then we can all go down the Pit and see what is really down there. OK?”

“Er, yes, fine,” replied Cedric, who was perceptive enough to realise that Agatha wasn’t really asking for an opinion. “I’ll get the horse saddled up and ride over to Beaufort Palace straight away. Will you need a coach?”

“Oh no, I will make my own arrangements,” Agatha told him with a smile. After the Earl had left Krosp turned to her with a frown.

“It would have been easier if we’d all met up at the Pit rather than the farm,” he declared. “This way I have to march up to the top of the hill and then march all the way down again. Who do you think you are, the Grand Old Duke of York?”

“This is by far the best arrangement,” Agatha assured him. “It’s time I gave these people a little demonstration of what I am capable of.”

It looked as though it was going to be another beautiful summer’s day as Agatha carried Krosp over to her Secret Lair. As she walked through the door she noticed that von Zinzer had one of the maintenance panels open on her death knight armour and was working on the power couplings.

“Problem?” she asked, strolling up and peering over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” replied von Zinzer, with a casual backward glance to show that he was just here to help out and was quite definitely not one of Agatha's minions, no matter what you might think. “The power supply to the missile targeting system keeps spiking and throwing the trips, so I'm trying a few extra in-line resistors to keep the peak voltage down.” Agatha frowned, considering.

“No, that won't do any good. That will just drop the steady state voltage down so much it won't be enough to run the targeting system.”

“You mean...”

“That’s right. Resistance is Futile. Try some capacitors connected across the outputs of the power supply instead. That will damp out any power spikes without affecting the normal voltage.”

“Righto.” Von Zinzer put his head back inside the inspection hatch and carried on working, while Agatha walked over to put the finishing touches to her own Masterpiece of Mad Science.

\------------------------*

An hour later, Cedric, the Duke of Machen and Llithrig Yr Wrach were waiting in the barn at Wamblecropt Farm. As Agatha had predicted, the miners had absolutely no intention of taking part in an expedition to deal with a pack of Neanderthals. Led by their two shop stewards, they were engaged in one of those fruitless negotiations that everyone knows is never going to reach an agreement, but everyone feels they need to continue just for the look of the thing. Anyway, Mr Evans and Mr Jones always enjoyed anything that would frustrate, upset or inconvenience other people; it was part of the job description for a trade union shop steward after all. Having finally reached a very creditable arrangement with Ferguson the day before, they were using all their considerable skill to use this new proposal as an excuse to delay their members having to start work for another few hours.

Suddenly there was a rumble and the ground shook beneath their feet. Dust cascaded down from the ancient beams of the roof. To the sound of the grinding of tortured rock, a vast cloud of debris billowed from the entrance of the tunnel that would eventually lead to the Pit. There was a general panic and cries of ‘Cave In!’ as the miners turned and fled, all trying to get out of the barn at once. First in the stampede was the Duke of Machen who pushed Cedric and Llithrig aside and ploughed through the crowd, showing considerably more athleticism than you might have expected from a man of his girth. Llithrig, frozen to the spot in fear, stood and screamed in a most politically-incorrect girly fashion, like an assistant in a 1970s episode of ‘Dr Who’. She would have been knocked to the ground and trampled beneath a rush of hob-nailed boots had not Cedric swept her into his arms and held her close to protect her from the panicked miners.

He dragged her, still screaming, towards the exit as a monster loomed through the cloud emerging from the tunnel mouth. Cedric was aware of a vast continuous roar and enormous, whirling, glittering teeth. Then as the dust settled he realised that the roar was the sound of a powerful engine and the teeth the glittering sharpened steel of an enormous cogged drill. A voice – Agatha’s voice - rang out in command from somewhere down the tunnel and the terrifying rotating blades came to a precise and controlled stop. He saw that the machine was an enormous flexible cylinder 10 feet in diameter moving on many little legs, resembling nothing so much as a giant, but rather stubby, millipede. A metal millipede with a drill bit where the head should be. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had seen this monster last night when it was unloaded from Agatha’s airship. The end of the body, perhaps 20 feet long, emerged from the tunnel. Behind it walked a giant clank; Agatha’s death knight armour. Her voice rang out again – Cedric didn’t catch the words - and the drilling clank’s engine powered down. The giant walked round to Cedric and Llithrig and looked down at them. It was a three metre tall suit of armour with an expressionless spiky metal helmet, but somehow it managed to project a feeling of extreme displeasure. A panel in the chest swung down to reveal Agatha sitting at the controls. She definitely had an expression of extreme displeasure. Cedric became aware that he was still hanging on tightly to Llithrig and that she was hanging on very tightly to him. Embarrassed, he loosened his grip, but Llithrig continued to hold on to him even tighter.

“Oh Cedric,” she breathed in his ear, “My hero! Thank you!” Although she was paying very close attention to the Earl she looked over in Agatha’s direction and made sure she caught her eye as she spoke, as if to say: ‘Mine! Mine mine _mine_!’”

Agatha scowled, deployed the telescopic ladder and climbed down from the clank. Reluctantly and slowly, still wearing her smug, possessive grin, Llithrig peeled herself off Cedric.

“Humph,” complained Agatha. “Sorry if I’m disturbing anything. If you two have _quite_ finished, perhaps we can all get down to do some work.” Behind her, a few of the braver miners poked their heads around the door of the barn to see if it was safe to come back in. She was pleased by the look of amazement on their faces. Sure that the danger was passed the rest of their colleagues, led by Mr Jones and Mr Evans, clustered back into the barn and gawped at the drilling clank.

“I have just come from Edgehill House,” Agatha explained, unable to hide her completely justifiable pride. “I’ve created a tunnel that comes out on the hillside just by the entrance to Cedric’s Pit. Now you can travel directly there without worrying about being seen and you’ll be in the dry and you won’t have to carry your tools and equipment up over the hill. Then, once we’ve solved the monster problem I’ll leave my drilling clank here and you can use it to mine the coal! If you like I can easily build a few more and have then delivered here from Mechanicsburg!”

“Better still, you can use them back in Wales to solve all your problems,” she explained to the union leaders. “It does all the work! It takes all the risk! You can control it by voice command well back from the coal face or even from the surface. All you have to do is shovel up the coal and if you give me a few days I can design you a clank that will do that for you too. All the hard work, the danger and discomfort of mining has been removed for ever!”

“I don’t believe it!” said Mr Evans in awe.

“That I should live to see such things,” said Mr Jones in wonder. Agatha beamed in pride. Then the two men turned on her in fury.

“Right that’s it! We are all out, right now, until this thing is destroyed permanently and we have an absolute guarantee that it, and nothing like it will ever be so much as considered in the coal mining industry ever again!” yelled Mr Jones.

“This is the greatest insult to miner’s rights since they tried to introduce the Davey lamp!” shouted Mr Evans.

“But… but, this will make your lives easier and safer. Don’t you want that?” asked Agatha, taken by surprise by the men’s vehemence.

“We are miners! Miners! How can we be miners if this… this monstrosity will be doing all the mining?”

“This will take our livelihood away!”

“But no, you will still have one drill per pit face worker, and one shovelling clank for each of the Spoilers. It’s simply that you will be working above ground in complete safety, out of all the dust and darkness and risk of collapse. Not only that, you’ll be able to mine so much more coal!”

“What do we care about the amount of coal that we mine? We fought and won the battle to remove all productivity targets years ago! Mining more coal just means more profit for the mine owners!”

“But if the mine makes more profit, won’t you benefit too? Better wages and bonuses?”

“The whole point of Union is that we get better wages and bonuses without having to mine any coal or the mine ever making a profit! This machine goes against everything that we stand for!”

“That’s right! As of this moment we are all on strike!”

“But this is Science! Progress!” exclaimed Agatha, starting to lose her temper. “Don’t you want progress?”

“We don’t mind progress, so long as it don’t change nothing,” retorted Mr Jones. He and Mr Evans stormed out, the rest of the miners behind them. Agatha could hear the shop stewards shouting at their men outside as they organised an impromptu meeting and show of hands to begin immediate strike action. She took a deep breath as she struggled to keep her anger and disappointment under control.

“Well, if we can’t use it to mine coal, at least we can use it to investigate the problem of the Pit,” she said, turning to Llithrig and Lord Machen, who had been watching her discomfiture with amusement. “Look, let me show you the special feature I designed. You see, it’s all voice controlled so anyone can use it without having to learn lots of controls. And just to show how much I respect your culture I modified it this morning so it will only respond to commands in Welsh! Look. <Advance forwards ten feet and then stop!>” she exclaimed in Welsh. The drilling clank obediently moved forward ten feet and stopped. “<Move back ten feet and then stop>” Agatha cried, clapping her hands in delight as the clank obeyed. She turned to the Duke and Llithrig. “Here, now you try.” The two looked at each other. The Duke gave a clear command. The clank didn’t move. The Duke spoke again, slightly louder, with a slight variation of the words. The clank tensed as if about to move and then relaxed again. <Processing Error. Command not understood> it said. The Duke turned to Agatha with his superior, mocking smirk.

“Dear me, Lady Heterodyne, it appears that your clank does not appear to work as well as you hoped.” He turned to his niece. “Perhaps you would like to try my dear?” Llithrig turned to the clank and issued a ringing command. Like the Duke, she had a very good command voice, as she too was used to being obeyed without question. The drilling clank lurched to one side and its head impacted heavily against the wall. It shook itself, as though slightly stunned and confused. <Processing Error. Please repeat Instruction> it complained. Llithrig laughed aloud in delighted scorn.

“Ha, did you honestly think you could master Welsh just like that? You really have made a complete mess of the whole thing haven’t you? Not only have you destroyed our carefully negotiated agreement with the miners, you’ve done it with something that doesn’t even work properly, if it works at all. So much for the great Agatha Heterodyne! When you’re away from your Castle and your minions and all the killing machines built for you by your ancestors; all the things that you usually rely on to carry your reputation, you really don’t amount to much at all do you? Hahahaha!”

“I… I…” stammered Agatha, momentarily at a loss for words as she tried to understand what had gone wrong with her wonderful invention. “No, look, I’m sure it is just a minor glitch. We can always reset it to default mode so it accepts commands in English or Romanian again. We can still take it down the pit to deal with your monster problem.”

“MONSTER PROBLEM?!” exclaimed Llithrig, turning on Agatha. “Is that how you see this? A MONSTER problem. Dear Cedric has been telling us all about your little ‘adventure’ yesterday. How you found a unique preserved colony of Neanderthals living beneath the Earth. And what did you do? Started blasting them with a death ray! Slaughtering them like animals! There was so much we can learn from them. But no! They’re only ‘monsters’ to you aren’t they?!”

“But they attacked us! I didn’t want to shoot them,” replied Agatha. “I tried to talk to them but they charged us and we had to shoot them in self-defence but…”

“We’ve no time for your pathetic excuses,” interrupted Llithrig. “What would you expect an isolated community to do when strange creatures suddenly break into their domain? Doubtless you went storming in like some great clumsy elephant. I expect they were terrified. What else did you expect them to do but defend themselves? And you tried to communicate for what, 10 seconds before you opened fire? How did you think they would react? You could have retreated there and then and let me deal with it. Unlike you, I am not a dealer in death and destruction. I am in tune with the Earth and a Lover of Peace. These people would have known instinctively that I was not a threat to them because I view them as individuals, not as monsters to be destroyed or enslaved. I would have treated them with respect, as an equal, as one sentient being to another. But no! You had to invade their land and start to kill them as soon as they started to defend themselves out of fear.”

“No, it wasn’t like that at all. We didn’t want to kill them. I never want to kill anyone. On all my Adventures I’m always there to help people, to protect them, to make things better.” A pleading tone had begun to enter Agatha’s voice.

 “Please. Do you honestly think that your ill-advised military interventions have actually helped anyone? How many times have you gone in with your monsters and engines of mass destruction to defeat some perceived evil, only for the people you were supposed to be helping to be left scarred, impoverished and embittered?”

“That’s hardly my fault. They…”

“We aren’t really interested in your sophistry,” interrupted Lord Machen. “We all know that despite all your fine words in reality you always invent a reason to ‘intervene’ only when your supply lines or your commercial interests are threatened. What happens to the people on the ground who get crushed beneath the wheels of your military machine are of no interest to a technocrat like you.”

“And this is a problem because…?” asked Krosp sarcastically.

Agatha glared at him. “You’re not helping!” she hissed.

“Why don’t you follow our example?” Llithrig said. “We are proposing a new, holistic and consistent approach to World Peace that we will implement in Wales once it is liberated from English tyranny. We know that if we are not a threat to anyone then no-one will threaten us. Our policy of ‘defensive defence’ is so simple even you should be able to understand it. Then we will work for World Peace by developing local capacities to avoid, manage and resolve conflicts.”

“Really, why did you bother to come here?” continued the Duke. “You’ve done nothing but kill and make things worse. Now we will have to try and mend this disaster – all these disasters you have caused. Why don’t you go back to that hell hole of a castle of yours and stay there, permanently?! Leave the world in Peace!”

“I’m not here because you invited me,” exclaimed Agatha, drawing herself up to her full height. “I am here at the request of Cedric, the Earl of Albemarle. He is the one that asked for my help. I think that he still needs it. I shall stay here and help him however I can, for as long as he needs me.”

“Ah, er…” stammered Cedric indecisively. “Well of course I would like you to…” He was silenced by Llithrig, suddenly walking over to stand close beside him. Very close beside him. She put her arm around his waist and ran her other hand over his chest in a very forward manner.

“Cedric dear, you aren’t really going to let ‘her’ stay are you? Not after all the trouble that she has caused us all? You know there’s nothing we can’t handle together don’t you? I really think it’s time we had a little quality time together so we can become better acquainted. Don’t you think?” Cedric blushed bright red and wavered indecisively. Llithrig’s hands moved a little lower and made up his mind for him. He turned to Agatha with new resolution, although obviously highly embarrassed.

“I… I’m sorry Lady Heterodyne. I can see now that asking you to come here was a mistake. My apologies, but I really think it would be better if you left now, yes, I think that would be best. I’d appreciate it if you go back to Edgehill House and collect all your belongings… the staff will help you pack… yes, and be gone by the time I get back this evening.” He glanced at Llithrig who was doing her best to drape herself around his body like a large blanket. “I’m sorry,” he finished lamely.

“You, you don’t mean that Cedric,” pleaded Agatha in distress. “You can’t really prefer… I mean you can’t ask me to leave with…”

“JUST GO!” shouted Lord Machen. “Haven’t you caused enough death and damage and destruction already!? GO BACK TO MECHANICSBURG AND NEVER COME BACK!” For a moment Agatha stared at the three of them in disbelief and then, with as much dignity as she could muster, turned and stalked away back to her machines. Krosp waited for just a few more seconds, staring at Lord Machen in disdain to make it clear that mere Dukes do not dismiss Emperors in such a cavalier fashion, before turning and following Agatha. It would have been highly effective had he been tall enough to look the Duke in the eye. Staring the Duke in the groin wasn’t nearly so effective.

As Agatha climbed into her death knight suit, she heard the murmur of the Duke’s voice and then Llithrig’s in reply. The Duke and the Welsh Spark both burst into peals of laughter that rang like mockery in Agatha’s ears. With her face burning in shame and anger she closed the access hatch, started the clank’s reactor and with downcast eyes commanded the drilling clank to follow her as she headed down her new tunnel back to Edgehill House.

\----------------------*

Moloch von Zinzer’s trip to the village to stock up on a few spares had been rather difficult. A conversation with a shopkeeper impatient with his poor English began badly with a misunderstanding regarding handles for forks and it had all gone downhill rapidly from there. In the end he did manage to get most of the items on his list but the billhooks proved to be a step too far.

He was back in the barn, sorry, Secret Lair, putting away the letter ‘o’s and the tins of peas when he heard a sudden commotion outside. His heart sank when he heard Fraulein Snaug's shrill voice raised in furious altercation. With a sigh he walked outside to try and calm the situation down before it escalated out of control. He remembered his earlier promise to Agatha and wondered if he had made the right choice after all; who was really the most likely to bite a passer-by, Florence or Snaug? At least Snaug confined herself to biting ankles, whereas Florence usually went straight for the throat.

He found his minion having a raging argument with a small man with greasy black hair and a small moustache. They were having a tug-of-war over one of the gyroscopic magnetometers brought from Mechanicsburg to calibrate the drilling clank's underground navigation system.

“This belongs to me I tell you!” the little man shouted. Fraulein Snaug responded with a most unladylike Romanian expression that made Moloch blush.

“How can it be yours you patchwork construct?!” she yelled at the top of her voice, “It's got our trilobite symbol on it and everything!”

“Yes, but it is on my land so that means it belongs to me now! Give it to me I say!”

“Your land?” Moloch stepped in, but refrained from entering into the undignified tugging match, much to Snaug's displeasure. “Now look, I'm pretty sure that this piece of land belongs to the Earl of Albemarle.”

“Yes, but this land is near to my land, so that means it belongs to me! If you don’t hand it over I shall take it by force!”

Seeing that she was not about to get any physical assistance from Moloch, Snaug suddenly released the magnetometer. The little man with the small moustache grasped it in triumph with both hands, which meant he was totally unable to defend himself from the short, sharp right jab that Snaug delivered to the tip of his nose. Moloch winced. He knew from experience that what her punches lacked in strength they more than made up for in speed and accuracy. He tensed to help defend her against the man's counter attack, wishing that he’d asked R-79 to stay behind, although then there would have been the risk of actually killing their opponent, which always resulted in enormous amounts of extra paper work. The little man looked at them both in astonishment and dropped the device, which was deftly caught by Fraulein Snaug. His eyes wide in fear, he howled in pain and ran away holding his bloody nose. As Snaug and Moloch watched him flee, one of the gardeners from Edgehill House wandered over to see what all the fuss was about.

“Who was that?” Moloch asked him.

“Oh, ‘e's from the Argentine,” the gardener replied, as though that explained everything. “I think ‘is name’s Senor Gomez. ‘e’s got a ‘ouse over the way, on Lord Machen’s land. ‘e’s ‘ere to do some sort of deal with the Duke.” With that, he blissfully strolled away, leaving the two visitors completely baffled. 

At that moment there was a roar of engines. Moloch was surprised to see the death knight suit and the drilling clank parking up outside the barn, sorry Secret Lair. The suit hatch opened and Agatha climbed down, followed by Krosp. She walked over to Moloch with her head down and shoulders slumped. When she looked up at him, he was shocked, and a little scared, to see how close she was to tears.  In his years with Agatha, he had seen The Lady Heterodyne full-on insane, manic, happy, angry, enthusiastic, upset, exhausted, frustrated, not-entirely-sober, and on rare occasions apparently a completely normal young woman (more or less in that order), but this was the first time that he had ever seen her utterly defeated.

“Hey, you’re back early,” he said, trying to hide the concern in his voice. “Is everything OK?”

“Pack it away. Pack it all away,” Agatha told him. “Put it all away and then tell the _Holzauge_ to come back when it’s dark and pick us and the equipment up.”

“Oh, righto.” Moloch suddenly felt a wave of protective sympathy. “What’s the matter? Is there anything we can do to help?” he asked, (which doesn’t involve me being put into an insanely dangerous situation again), he thought. He reached out to comfort her, but Snaug grasped his elbow to restrain him. Behind Agatha, Krosp silently shook his head and beckoned him to leave the Mistress in peace.

“Er, right. I’ll start with the packing then,” Moloch told her. Receiving no response, he quietly followed Snaug back to the barn, sorry, Secret Lair.

“You know,” he said to Snaug, “Agatha Heterodyne had been the cause of me being in some very dangerous, suicidal and downright embarrassing situations over the years, but no matter how bad things got, somehow it had never occurred to me that she would not pull through; I've always assumed that she’d win in the end, and somehow, if she won, well then maybe we wouldn’t die after all either. Maybe that is why I've stayed in Mechanicsburg for so long. No matter how bad things became, The Heterodyne is always there to make things come out right. Now, seeing her finally beaten like this, it's as though my legs have been swept away.”

“You know what I think?” asked Snaug.

“What?”

“I think you've been spending far too many evenings drinking Old Sparky Hen and talking complete _taur rahat_ with Professor Mittelmind. Come on, less navel-gazing, more hard work. Let's get all this stuff put away again.”

\---------*

Agatha, the derisive laughter of Llithrig Yr Wrach still ringing in her ears, walked back down to Edgehill House to collect her belongings, but didn’t have the heart to go inside and talk to the servants. Instead, she wandered onto the terrace, sat down on one of the stone benches and looked over the beautiful garden with unseeing eyes. Krosp found a large and soft patch of annuals in the garden bathed by a warm patch of sunlight and having flattened them down to his satisfaction, curled up and went to sleep. Agatha didn’t wake him. She sat on the bench, staring at nothing, trapped at the bottom of her own deep, dark pit of unhappiness and humiliation.

 

_The End._

_No, I’m joking. Don’t miss the next exciting episode, in which the tide begins to turn._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Four Candles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaGpaj2nHIo)  
>  Still the greatest sketch of all time


	10. The Turning of the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which The Heterodyne gets very cross_

Agatha was finally awakened from her brown study by a rattle of crockery. Miss Gaunt had arrived with a silver tray laden with teapot, milk jug, cups and saucers. She put it down on the patio table in front of Agatha.

“I didn’t order tea,” snapped Agatha, rather more sharply than she intended.

“My dear, I really think you should have a cup,” the housekeeper told her in a sympathetic tone, busying herself performing the English Tea Ceremony, putting the cup in the saucer, adding the milk, stirring the pot and finally pouring the tea through the strainer. “When you’ve having a bad day, you’ll be surprised how much better it will make things.”

“I doubt it,” Agatha said, but took the offered cup and saucer anyway. Somehow, it would have been rude not to.

“Come now, it can’t be that bad can it?” Miss Gaunt had a knack of getting people to explain at great length why they refused to say a single word. She’d learned it from a wise priest many years before.

“As bad as it can get,” sighed Agatha. “You see, all I want to do is fix things, whether it’s a dripping tap in the minions’ bathroom or a tyrant oppressing his people and looking to extend his evil to wreck the rest of the world. And that’s what I’ve always tried to do, as well as I’m able. And now they tell me that this is wrong; that my interventions to fight evil wherever I have found it have only made the world worse. Are they right? Very often I’ve defeated the villains, but then the people I’ve helped start fighting amongst themselves, or an even more evil group of fanatics who make the tyrant I overthrew look like a benevolent father figure turn up to fill the power vacuum. And then the people who I thought I had saved turn round and blame me as though it’s my fault, even though they have squandered all the money and resources I’ve given them and they’ve done nothing to defend themselves or help rebuild their own country. Am I wrong to try and help? When I defend civilisation against the spread of evil, am I only perpetuating the cycle of violence? Should I really stay at home and not fight for other peoples’ freedom?”

“Do you really believe that you should do nothing? Of course you don’t!” replied Miss Gaunt with a motherly smile. “Can you really sit safe in your Castle and watch the world outside going to Hell? Can you sit there secure and not try to help? Even knowing that you will be bound by a heavy harness of responsibility? That those you help may very well take the peace and prosperity that you give them and throw it back in your face as they start squabbling over absurd grievances based on ancient history and trivial religious differences so all your plans for them come to nought? Even though the only reward you can expect is the blame of those you better and the hate of those you guard? In a way it’s like being a mother. All you can do is help these half-children grow up, give them everything they need to prosper and point them in the right direction. But you cannot live their lives for them, no matter how much their foolishness and lack of thanks may grieve you.”

“I… yes, I suppose so.”

“You know you have to try, even if you are not always successful, no matter what the cost, even if you receive no easy ungrudged praise, because that is not why you must do what you do. If no-one will stand against evil it will spread unchecked and our tiny, fragile little circle of civilisation will be snuffed out by the great ocean of ignorance and superstition as the world is plunged back into a new dark age. But you’ve had this conversation before, many times I’m sure and although the voices of criticism and doubt may torment you in the middle of the night we both know that come the dawn you will be ready to take up arms against evil again, because if you do not then no-one will and then a day will come when there is no dawn.” Agatha sipped her tea, taking heart from the words of support and encouragement.

“No, there’s more to it than that isn’t there?” continued Miss Gaunt. “Something else has happened. Something closer to home and more personal that has hurt you to the core. Would you like to tell me about it? Maybe I can help, or at least provide some comfort.”

Agatha paused, wondering exactly how much of her inner thoughts and fears she could trust to a complete stranger. Somehow, the compassionate figure of the housekeeper reminded her of her own mother, (her foster mother Lilith, obviously, as opposed to her biological mother, who we don’t talk about) and she did so need to talk to someone.

“You see,” she said, “the most terrible thing that can happen to a Spark is to be proved wrong. OK, sometimes we make things that don’t quite work as we intended, or there are completely unpredictable side effects or the occasional unavoidable freak accident, but that’s all part of Science. Dr Beetle always used to say if you never ever make a ravening monster then you aren’t trying hard enough. But this was different. I made something that I thought would help and I was just wrong. It wasn’t that my invention didn’t work or that it malfunctioned. I made an invention that worked exactly the way I intended it to, but was then shown to be completely useless because of my lack of understanding. Worse, I was humiliated in front of another Spark; of course it had to be little Miss Pretty-Perfect, and Cedric was there too. They all looked at my invention and laughed. I was humiliated in front of everyone, and you know, I still don’t understand what I did wrong. I don’t know what my mistake was! I am sure, as sure as I have ever been of anything in my entire life that the English / Welsh translation engine I created worked perfectly, but neither Lord Machen nor that… that other Spark could understand a word it said and it couldn’t understand their instructions. And because of that Cedric… Cedric… he…”

She stopped, disgusted with herself at how close she was to tears, which only made it worse. She could imagine how disappointed her Father and Uncle would have been, and as for what the Old Masters would have thought…

“Oh my dear Miss Clay,” said Miss Gaunt, bending down so she could bring herself level with Agatha’s distressed downcast eyes, “is that what has upset you so? But that’s an easy riddle to solve.”

“Really?” Agatha looked up.

“Why of course! I’m sure your translation engine is working perfectly, perfectly fine. What you weren’t to know was that neither Lord Machen nor Ms Yr Wrach can speak Welsh.”

“WHAT!!” Agatha cried, suddenly springing to her feet, launching her cup and saucer into the air in opposite directions. Miss Gaunt dexterously caught them both before they could smash on the slabs of the terrace. It was the Royal Doulton tea service after all.

“But they’re Welsh! They’re Welsh! THEY SAID THEY SPOKE WELSH!” yelled Agatha, infused with rage. Miss Gaunt took a step back and carefully replaced the cup and saucer on the tea tray.

“Oh my dear, no-one speaks Welsh anymore, at least not as their native language. With all this resurgence in Welsh nationalism there are lots of people learning it now, but as a second language and, as you are aware, it is most difficult to master. Many people, including I regret to say Lord Machen and Ms Yr Wrach, only get as far as simple words and sentences and never master the intricacies of the grammar at all.”

“So what you’re saying is, that they weren’t able to control the drilling clank because…”

“…because they couldn’t understand a word it was saying, and neither did they know any of the words to control it, correct.”

“And then she was laughing at my Spark when all the time she was… That… that cow, that utter, utter…,” Agatha was so indignant she had trouble speaking, “COW!!”  she managed at last. Miss Gaunt reflected that, although in general she disapproved of the gratuitous use of bad language, Lady Heterodyne really needed to expand her vocabulary of expletives.

“Krosp! KROSP!” Agatha shouted. The Emperor of all cats yawned and stretched on his bed of flattened flowers.

“What is it now?” he asked grumpily. “Is it time to go home yet? I’m starving.”

“No! Change of plan! We’re going to find out what is really going on here and we’re going to start in that Secret Lab at Beaufort Palace. Come on!”

“How are we going to get there? Do we have a carriage? I’m not walking. It’s not as though they’re going to let us in.”

“We don’t need to walk, we don’t need a carriage and we don’t need permission. Remember that laboratory is underground!” She set off for her own Secret Lair at a run. With a resigned sigh, Krosp hurried after her. Miss Gaunt watched them go with a small satisfied smile as she cleared away the tea things.

\------------*

Half an hour later, Agatha and Krosp were sitting in the cockpit of the death knight armour. They had encountered a minor setback.

“This isn’t exactly where we planned to come out, is it?” asked Krosp.

“No as such, no,” agreed Agatha defensively, “but we are in the right location.” Krosp didn’t bother to argue the point. He knew that Agatha was still a little sensitive about the effectiveness of her inventions and now was not the time for unnecessary criticism that might dent her self-confidence.

Agatha had sent the drilling clank down the burrow they had already created from the Pit, but before the exit to Wamblecropt Farm she had diverted it and created a new tunnel to the Secret Laboratory beneath Beaufort Palace. She and Krosp followed behind it in the death knight armour. Unfortunately, rather than arriving through the wall of the Secret Laboratory as she had intended it to, the drilling clank had, for reasons of its own, decided to connect its tunnel to the horizontal shaft constructed to take the Brass Butterfly from its underground hangar up to the surface. Now, having made the connection to the shaft it was sitting on the stationary conveyor belt awaiting further instructions, while Agatha and Krosp sat behind it in the armour, which didn’t have room to walk past.

“It’s going to be far too awkward to reverse up and get our armour into the room,” declared Agatha, “and anyway we’ll still be too high up. Remember the access hatch to the hangar is in the ceiling. Let’s get out of the armour and walk the rest of the way. The suit would have been far too bulky to move around in down there anyway.”

“OK, but we need to be careful there aren’t any traps or sentry clanks,” warned Krosp. They climbed down onto the conveyor and squeezed past the drilling clank to the hatchway that led down to the Secret Laboratory. Fortunately the security portcullis was raised and a convenient control panel had been installed that enabled Agatha to open the sliding panels and raise the platform with the Brass Butterfly up to the ceiling. They stepped on to the platform and Agatha activated controls on the platform’s control console to lower it back down. Agatha took a malicious pleasure in commenting on how the unnecessary duplication of controls pointed to a lack of proper planning at the design stage, not to mention an obvious flaw in the security of the Secret Laboratory.

“Now!” she exclaimed as they walked across the hangar. “Let’s have a look and see what this tech is really all about!” They went cautiously through the store room into the main part of the Secret Laboratory. Although they checked carefully, they couldn’t find any of the traps, guardian constructs or other discouragements to uninvited guests that are usually de rigueur in such installations. At first Agatha was worried that the security system was so well concealed that she could not find it. Then she realised with disgust that the reason she couldn’t find the security system was because there was not a security system there to find. ‘Honestly,’ she thought, ‘what kind of Spark is Miss Pretty-Perfect? How can Cedric possibly prefer someone who doesn’t even have a proper death trap on the door of her Secret Laboratory?’

Once she was sure they were safe and unobserved, Agatha produced a collection of test instruments from her tool belt and began an examination of the dream catchers, hex boards and stone monoliths, while Krosp entertained himself by finding some mimmoths lurking in the dark corners of the laboratory and catching one for his elevenses.

“You know,” Agatha announced ten minutes later, “I can’t see anything at all special or magical about any of this. There’s no kind of magnetic field, no aetheric potential, no ectoplasmic currents, no residual qi signatures, nothing.”

“All this stuff about Earth Power,” replied Krosp, picking a small bone from his teeth, “actually, it's...”

“Codswallop?” Agatha supplied the scientific term he was looking for. “Oh yes. When I hear the word ‘holistic’ I reach for my Death Ray.”

“Didn't you once say that any sufficiently analysed magic is indistinguishable from science?”

“Yes, but then again any sufficiently analysed new age mysticism is indistinguishable from a load of complete boll- , I mean total nonsense.”

“From that I take it you don’t think any of these medicines are any use?” Krosp indicated the shelves of alternative remedies. In answer, Agatha picked a bottle at random and read the label.

“Homeopathic 100C Sundew Extract. ‘To give the patient a sunny disposition’. Seriously? The 100C means this stuff has been diluted 100 fold one hundred times, so there’s unlikely to be any actual molecules of sundew left in it. Anyway, she’s mixing up homeopathy with the doctrine of signatures.” She read further down the label, through the list of ingredients. “Oh, my mistake, I was wrong. This stuff will quite probably give you a sunny disposition if you drink it.”

Krosp cocked a sceptically eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh yes. It’s 30% alcohol.” She put the bottle back on the shelf.

_Editor’s note. I hate to say it, but as absurd as most of this narrative is, I didn’t make up the Homeopathic Sundew Extract. It was prescribed by the British NHS to hyperactive children to help them sleep. I’m told it’s very effective._

“Not to mention all that rubbish she was spouting about the druids building Stonehenge,” continued Agatha, getting into her stride as her confidence returned. “All the stone circles and monuments were built by the Neolithic peoples who lived here six thousand years ago. Whatever the reasons they had for building them were forgotten by the time their culture was superseded by the Bronze Age civilisation that came after. Then that agrarian culture was swept away by the barbaric Celtic invaders – that’s the people who actually had druids and who are the ancestors of the Welsh – when they invaded with their iron weapons and less sophisticated hunter gatherer warrior tradition. They weren’t here for all that long before the Romans came and conquered them.”

“So basically druids have got nothing to do with stone circles?”

“No, nothing whatsoever. Actually, that’s not strictly true. Modern druidism was invented a hundred years or so ago and the inventors included lots of stuff about stone circles and mysticism like that, probably because they thought everyone in prehistory lived at the same time and anyway, stone circles are impressive places to hold rituals. But the new druids don’t have anything to do with the ancient druids no matter what they might think!”

“It’s a nice story though and often that’s the most important thing.”

Agatha moved over to examine the chemical lab, a mass of tubes, retorts and reaction vessels that looked more like respectable rational Mad Science to Agatha but was completely incomprehensible to Krosp. Now he was here for the second time his sensitive nose picked up a smell he had sensed somewhere before, recently. A smell of industrial effluent. He frowned; where had he smelt that before? Meanwhile, Agatha had finally found what she was looking for; Llithrig Yr Wrach’s laboratory notes. They were, of course, encrypted, so there was a four minute delay while Agatha cracked the cypher.

“Hm,” she said, deep in thought as she looked through the note book, separating the details of the scientific method from the aims of the experiment. “She’s brewing some kind of chemical formulation, obviously. Looks like people are supposed to drink it. Wonder what it does. Some kind of healing? From all this apparatus and these notes it looks as though it might actually do something useful. What does she call it? Heliwrawel? What does that mean? I think it’s Welsh.”

“Are you sure? There are an awful lot of vowels.”

“Well, ‘awel’ is ‘breeze’. And ‘Heliwr’ is ‘hunter’. A hunting breeze? That doesn’t make any sense! I’ve got to remember she doesn’t actually speak Welsh. Now what did she really mean?”

“That smell of effluent,” mused Krosp, “I remember where I’ve smelt it before. In the Pit. The Neanderthals smelt of it, as least it was a part of their odour.” The pfennig suddenly dropped for Agatha.

“That plagiarising, illiterate cow!” she cried, “It’s not breeze! She means ‘draft’! And not hunter! Jäger! Jägerdraft! She’s brewing Jägerdraft! I knew there was something familiar about the anatomy of that creature I dissected in the Pit. Its internal organs had been transformed in a similar way to the Jägerkin. Those aren’t Neanderthals down there! Those are the missing miners transformed into imitation Jägers!  She’s been feeding them this muck, turning them into monsters and hiding them in the Pit! She calls them the Helwyr!”

“What? Is she using water from the Dyne?”

“No! Water from the Taff!” Agatha indicated a 50 gallon drum in the corner of the laboratory, covered with Biohazard, Corrosive and Poison warning labels. “No wonder they smell of chemical effluent!”

“Oh dear, I wonder if the mimmoths have been in the chemicals?” mused Krosp. “This one tasted a bit metallic. Anyway, there’s really not much point getting all upset. After all, it’s not as though this is the first time someone has had the idea of making her own Jägers! And it’s not as though anyone has ever got anywhere near making something as good as ours. The important question is, why?”

“Why? I don’t understand?” said Agatha in puzzlement. Krosp rolled his eyes in frustration. He should have remembered that Sparks always have difficulty with questions that start with ‘Why’.

“I mean, why _here_?” he explained patiently. “She lives over in Wales. Lord Machen has an enormous castle back there where he can do whatever he likes in private. Why come all the way up here high and dry in the middle of England and then use Cedric’s cave to keep these – what did you call them?”

“Helwyr. There’s only one way to find out. Cedric and the Duke and little Miss Pretty-Perfect will still be over at the Wamblecropt Farm. Let’s get over there and ask them. We’ll go in the death knight armour to remind them of the importance of good manners. Come on!” She was already heading for the exit.

“If this is all about making Jägers, what was that thing that Cedric saw in the cavern? The giant lizard breathing fire.” wondered Krosp as the platform lifted them back up to the level of the drilling clank and the death knight armour.

“Who knows?” replied Agatha. “Whatever is going on, I’m starting to wonder if Cedric is in on it too, especially after… after this morning. But in that case, why did he ask us here?”

“We discussed this. He didn’t. There’s still more questions than answers.”

“Yes, and those answers are at Wamblecropt Farm. It’s time we finally discovered what this Adventure is really all about!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krosp is correct. This is not the first time someone has had the idea of trying to make their own Jägers.


	11. The Army of Gwaelod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne unmasks The Evil Plan_

Agatha was too impatient to reverse the drilling clank, so she left it where it was and took the death knight armour back down the tunnel towards Wamblecropt Farm. She had worried that they might meet some miners in her new tunnel on their way to start work on the Pit, but then she remembered that they were all out on strike again. She was however surprised to find that none of the miners where in the barn when the death knight armour emerged from the tunnel. The only person present was Mr Ferguson, the Duke of Machen’s estate manager, who backed away in horror as the enormous battle clank emerged. The doors where closed and the man frantically pulled at them in a vain attempt to escape. He had obviously been locked inside. Ignoring Krosp’s suggestion that it might be amusing to chase him around the barn a few times (only to calibrate the death knight armour’s targeting optics you understand), Agatha stopped the suit and opened the access hatch so Ferguson could see that it was her. As the man rushed over to them in relief, Krosp sniffed the air suspiciously.

“Agatha,” he whispered urgently, “they’re here. I can smell the effluent. The Helwyr are here, close by!”

Before Agatha could reply, Mr Ferguson shouted up to her. He looked near to panic.

“Miss Clay, thank God you are here,” he began, “The monsters! They poured out of the Pit soon after you left! It’s the Duke! He’s going to…” He suddenly stopped speaking and looked up in terror as a sound like the ringing of an old-fashioned alarm clock came from his bowler. Smoke poured from underneath the brim. He screamed with fear and agony as he desperately pulled at the hat in a futile attempt to remove it from his head. Agatha had been on enough Adventures to know what was coming next. She slammed shut the hatch seconds before the bowler exploded, neatly removing the top of Mr Ferguson’s head. Once the dust had settled, Agatha carefully opened the hatch again and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes in exasperation.

“Seriously?” she complained to no-one in particular. “How cliché!”

“Effective though,” replied Krosp, looking down at the still twitching body. “There’s no way we are going to be extracting any useful information from that.”

“At least we know it’s the Duke who is definitely up to something,” said Agatha, “and now we know he is definitely The Villain.”

“How so?”

“Only The Villain kills his own minions when they turn out to be disloyal and try to explain his Evil Plan to the Heroes.”

From outside there came loud shouting and the sounds of gunshots. Agatha looked up in alarm.

“Are they fighting? Are the Helwyr attacking the other miners?” Krosp leaped from the cockpit to one of the barn’s beams and from there climbed up the wall to one of the high windows.

“No,” he reassured her, peering through the cracked, grimy glass, “they’re celebrating together. It looks as though the entire pack of Helwyr is out there and they are working with the miners. The miners have got guns by the way. Russian-made Kalashnikov muskets by the look of it.”

“That settles it then. They are definitely the bad guys.”

“No doubt about it. At least they won’t be able to hit anything. It looks as though the guns are being handed out to the humans and they’re firing them off in the air for the hell of it. Shocking discipline. Wastes ammunition, means the musket will need to be cleaned and those bullets have got to come down somewhere. The guns are being issued from the farmhouse. Whatever’s happening here, it’s all coming to a head today…,” he looked down at the corpse on the floor, “… if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“At least with all the noise they’re making they probably didn’t hear the explosion. Is… er… is Cedric there?”

“No, I can’t see him, or Lord Machen or his niece. They could be in the farmhouse I suppose.”

“Right!” exclaimed Agatha with renewed resolution. “Get back in and we’ll drive out and see what’s going on.”

“No wait,” said Krosp. “They’ve been lying and lying and lying to us since we arrived, and there’s a small undisciplined trigger-happy army outside who are just waiting to shoot at something. It might not be a good idea to go charging straight in, even if we do have the battle clank. Tell you what, you stay here out of sight and I’ll sneak across to the farmhouse and see what intelligence I can gather.”

“Are you sure?” asked Agatha, uncertainly. “Be careful they don’t catch you.”

“Relax. I’m cute. No-one’s going to hurt me.”

“Apart from those Helwyr. Make sure you don’t end up on the menu after all.”

“I’ll be fine,” Krosp assured her, sounding more confident than he felt. He climbed up a wooden beam to the roof and pushed aside one of the tiles. Checking that the coast was clear he climbed out of the building and then back down to the ground via a convenient drainpipe. Making maximum use of the cover provided by the weeds in the unkempt garden, he sneaked across to the farmhouse, keeping his eyes open for fake Jägers and trigger-happy miners. Security was non-existent and he blessed Her Undying Majesty’s repressive and authoritarian regime that had made these people so complacent. He did a carefully circuit of the building, peeking through all the windows to confirm that Cedric, Lord Machen and Llithrig Yr Wrach were not there. In the main living room he saw Mr Jones and Mr Evans sitting at a table and distributing the last of the guns and ammunition to the still-human miners as they filed in from outside. Stealthily he climbed in through the open window behind them and took cover in a large pile of empty packing cases that had originally contained the weapons. He looked at the label stencilled on each case with interest.

**Argentine Army Surplus**   
**Never Fired**   
**Dropped Once**

As Krosp watched, the last rifle was given out and its new owner took it outside to take potshots at the local wildlife. The two shop stewards leaned back in their chairs and lit well-earned cigarettes.

“Quite the operation you have going here,” Krosp remarked casually, walking out from behind the cases as though he were taking an after-dinner stroll in his own territory. He enjoyed the extravagant amazement of the two men as they almost jumped out of their seats. “A bunch of armed discontents and a pack of monsters. Something of a rabble perhaps, but effective if used correctly. So tell me gentlemen, what’s it all for?” The two shop stewards stood up and confronted their uninvited guest.

“This is no rabble,” exclaimed Mr Jones, recovering from his surprise with creditable speed. “This is the Army of Gwaelod! Freedom fighters for the liberation of Wales! The Duke of Machen and the beautiful Druidess Yr Wrach will lead us to Victory, see!”

“Not only has the Duke got these weapons for us, he has transformed the best of us into fearless and mighty warriors, the Helwyrs!” added Mr Evans.

“Our Druidess has created an unstoppable weapon of mass destruction that even now stirs beneath the Earth! The Red Dragon! It will sweep across the countryside destroying everything in its path!”

“It will strike a blow against Her Undying Majesty’s oppressive military machine that cannot be ignored. Even now the druidess and Lord Machen are over at the cavern beneath the hill where it was created, preparing to awaken it and bring it here to lead our Jihad!”

“Makes sense,” agreed Krosp, impressed by the way the two men took it in turns to deliver invective. “Obviously, your first target will be the barracks and ammunition depot at Tewkesbury. Blowing that up will certainly create a big enough bang and attract a lot of attention right across Europa.”

“No, not as such,” admitted Mr Evans. “It’s a bit too well defended, is Tewkesbury. Our first target will be the Military Music School at Mickleton.”

“Blowing up the Mickleton Hooters is hardly going to cripple Albia’s defensive infrastructure,” Krosp told him derisively.

“But they don’t have any guns there see,” explained Mr Jones, “so they won’t be able to shoot back. Attacking soldiers who are armed sounds a bit dangerous to me.”

“So you are only going after defenceless targets.”

“You sound like an English apologist! A brass band is a military unit and blowing one up is a legitimate response to continued English aggression!” Krosp sniffed in disdain and did not deign to reply.

“You can’t stop us!” snarled Mr Jones. “If you stand in the way of the Army of Gwaelod you will suffer the consequences!” The two shop stewards advanced on Krosp menacingly.

“Don't threaten me!” the Emperor warned them, leaping onto the top of the packing cases to bring himself up to their eye level. “Don't think you can hope to defeat The Heterodyne!”

“We have an army,” Mr Evans sneered. “We have guns. We have the Helwyrs. We have the Red Dragon. What have a pussy cat and a little girl got that can stand in our way?”

Krosp pulled himself up to his full height, adopted his best ‘Emperor’ pose and pointed a warning finger with extended claw at the man's nose.

“The Heterodyne has Shibboleths! Lots of them! Don't think we won't dare release them! I'm warning you! Don't make us do it!” The shop stewards exchanged uneasy looks.

“What is a Shibboleth anyway?” Mr Jones whispered, taking an involuntary step backwards.

“You really, _really_ don't want to find out.” Krosp told him, dropping his voice to a dramatic hiss. Mr Evans swallowed audibly. “Now, if you will excuse me,” Krosp continued with dignity, “Lady Heterodyne and I need to go and talk with the grown-ups,” and without another word he turned, leaped through the window and walked back to the barn where Agatha was waiting in the death knight armour. Even as he climbed back in through the roof, he was aware of shouts and commotion from the fields in front of the farm, where the Army of Gwaelod were mustering. He hurried over to the waiting clank, and leaped up the telescopic ladder.

“The Duke, Cedric and Yr Wrach are all over at the Pit, about to unleash The Monster,” he told Agatha without preamble. “We need to get over there as quickly as possible, unless you want to get involved in extended discussions with the minions.” Indeed, there were already guttural shouts and the banging of clubs as the Helwyr struggled with the concept of barred doors. It shouldn’t have been that difficult; the doors were barred on the outside after all. There were a couple of random gun shots but no bullets came through the barn door, confirming Krosp’s opinion of the accuracy of the Russian-made muskets. Agatha didn’t bother to ask questions. She retracted the ladder, closed the crew hatch and gunned the clank’s engine. It set off back down the tunnel at a run, easily able to outdistance the Army of Gwaelod.

\----------------*

As the death knight armour ran down the tunnel, Krosp explained to Agatha everything he had discovered.

“So, a Red Dragon,” she mused. “Could be a clank. Could be a construct, like that obnoxious little lizard Franz took down at the Siege of Mechanicsburg. And you say this is a Liberation Movement to free Wales. Normally we free oppressed people from tyrants. I’m wondering whose side we should be on.”

She didn’t have too much time to consider. At full speed the death knight armour soon reached the end of the tunnel near the entrance to the Pit. Lord Machen, Llithrig Yr Wrach and Cedric stood together talking outside the round green door of the summer house. They looked up at the sound of the death knight armour in surprise and some alarm. Cedric put himself between Llithrig and the threatening new arrival. Lord Machen took cover behind the pair of them. Cedric’s horse and the horses harnessed in the Duke’s carriage, tied up near the entrance to the Pit, all snorted and capered at their tethers in alarm. There was a brief discussion and then Cedric was deputed to walk over and talk to Lady Heterodyne. As he approached Agatha looked at the fine array of weaponry available to her, but decided not to shoot anyone; at least, not yet, although her trigger finger did twitch a little when she saw that Llithrig had unconsciously adopted a pose to display her legs to best advantage as she waited by Lord Machen. Summoning all the reasonableness and good humour of her father and seeing that no-one seemed to be hostile, she opened the hatch, extended the telescopic ladder and climbed down to talk to the Earl of Albemarle face to face, but she took her favourite number 16 wrench with her, just in case.

“Ah, er… Agatha…,” began Cedric, eyeing the wrench nervously, “I…”

“Don’t you ‘Agatha’ me,” snapped Lady Heterodyne. “We’ve just been over to Wamblecropt Farm and seen your little army. What exactly is going on here?”

“Ah, well you see, I’ve been having a long talk with Llith… er… Ms Yr Wrach, that is a very frank and honest talk actually and you see, you know the Welsh have been oppressed by English tyranny for such a long time and now, now it’s time for them to start fighting for Freedom, you do see that don’t you.” As he spoke, Llithrig came up behind him and wrapped herself around him from behind.

“We have had _such_ a frank and _intimate_ discussion,” she told Agatha, “that dear Cedric is quite converted to our cause, even if he is only an Englishman. Will you join us too? Help us fight for our Freedom?” Agatha frowned, thinking of the body of Abigail Wellesley lying discarded in the Pit still clutching her favourite doll and Mr Ferguson’s exploding hat. And all those comments about her size in dresses.

“You must see that ours is a just cause,” added Lord Machen, joining the group, now he was sure it was safe. “Let’s go into the summer house and discuss this like civilised people.” He turned to Cedric. “Albemarle, I need you to go over to Beaufort Palace and wait there, in the Secret Laboratory. We’ll join you once the Army of Gwaelod has been unleashed. We’ll need your help to co-ordinate operations.”

“Oh, righto D’Arcy,” replied Cedric, “er… I’ll ride over there right away then should I?” Lord Machen and Llithrig had already turned their backs on him and were walking towards the summerhouse, so with a sheepish goodbye to Agatha and Krosp, which they grudgingly acknowledged, he got on his horse and rode off up the hill towards Beaufort Palace.

Agatha lingered to help Krosp down from the death knight armour so she could have a quiet word with him in private.

“How did that work?” asked the cat, “I thought disloyal thoughts to Albia were literally unthinkable?”

“That tech isn’t as robust as you might think,” explained Agatha. “It’s not some absolute mind control like those awful wasps. I think perhaps if they’ve convinced Cedric that if he is helping free oppressed people then that doesn’t count as disloyalty to the Queen, who would doubtless wish them to be independent if she did but know their true feelings.”

“Also,” mused Krosp. “I suspect ‘dear Cedric’ has enjoyed the benefit of some enthusiastic niece-ing while we’ve been away that has probably helped persuade him which side he is on.”

“Really!” snorted Agatha indignantly. “Well, all I can say is that they deserve each other! Anyway, I thought she was supposed to be Lord Machen’s niece.”

“I’m sure the Duke is enough of a pragmatist not to allow any personal feelings to get in the way of his political ambitions. I don’t suppose he is anymore faithful to his niece than she is to him and neither of them will have any compunction in using her feminine charms on other people if it will help them achieve their objectives.”

“Hmrph. Then she’s no better than she should be.”

They reached the summer house and walked in through the open door. Llithrig, waiting for them inside, picked up a small pistol-sized death ray from a workbench and pointed it at Agatha’s chest. The death ray was pink, with little flowers painted on the barrel. Somehow, Agatha was not surprised. Lord Machen closed the door behind them.

“What, you are going to shoot me after all?” exclaimed Agatha sarcastically. “So much for all that non-violence you were preaching to me this morning!”

“Shoot you? Oh no! This is merely insurance to make sure that you do not attack us, which you must admit given your track record is much more likely. No, the question is, are you going to help us in our fight for freedom or not?”

“We’ve talked with your minions over at the farm and they’ve told us all your plans,” Krosp responded. “Destroy a School for Military Bands? Seriously? That doesn’t seem a very good way to start a campaign.”

“Actually we plan to start the campaign in the village across the valley,” Lord Machen told her. “They’re all incorrigible poachers you know, and Andy the landlord of the Crown and Trumpet is incredibly mean with his meal portions. It will give the Army of Gwaelod a taste for blood.”

 “Yes, I thought individually wrapping the pork scratchings was going too far,” replied Agatha, “I can see that will definitely make them angry.”

“No, I mean the destruction of the village!” exclaimed the Duke impatiently.

“Destroy the village!” said Agatha in horror, “but they’re just innocent civilians! Where is the justice in attacking them?”

“There is no justice,” sneered Lord Machen. “There’s just us. Ourselves alone.”

“You must either join us or stand aside, Heterodyne,” declared Llithrig. “I have created a massive engine of destruction before which Albia’s army will be helpless! An unstoppable war clank. Naturally I have made it in the form of a Red Dragon, the symbol of Welsh defiance! Poor Cedric. He believed everything we told him; all that nonsense about coal. Even that we would only use violence as a last resort. His caverns were exactly what we needed to assemble and hide the Red Dragon under his nose at the very heart of Albia’s evil empire and he never suspected a thing. And they were the perfect place to keep my wonderful Helwyrs too. Welsh patriots transformed into an unstoppable army of super-soldiers by my Spark.”

“Your pale imitation of my Jägers you mean.”

“ _Your_ Jägers? You seriously believe that? You’ve never brewed the Jägerdraft in your life have you? This is yet another example of you riding on the shoulders of your ancestors and taking the credit.”

“I’ve never tried to brew the Jägerdraft,” retorted Agatha. “The survival rate is far too low – it would be immoral to recreate it.” Llithrig gave her little girly laugh.

“Morals? Morals are for wimps! Can’t you simply admit that I have triumphed where you have failed?”

“So why have you not made all of the miners into Helwyr? Helwyr is the plural by the way. The singular would be Heliwr.”

“I will admit there have been some unforeseeable side-effects. At least the survival rate is almost 99%. Unfortunately the Heliwrawel does seem to make the warriors somewhat – less intelligent. We were hoping to arm them with Mr Gomez’s muskets, but unfortunately the Helwyrs are too stupid and are as likely to shoot themselves or each other as the enemy, if they can work out how to operate them at all. Then they started wandering around molesting the local farm animals and that idiot Cedric panicked and called you in. In the end we had to keep half of the army as normal humans who can be relied on to follow orders and use modern weapons. Anyway, your inconvenient meddling means we’ve had to move the plan forward. The Helwyrs can use clubs well enough and they make excellent fearless cannon fodder! Not that the normal humans aren’t that too of course.”

“And all that talk of peace and conciliation and defensive defence?”

“This is completely different! This is a Struggle for Freedom from English Oppression. It is completely justified and legitimate, unlike one of your self-serving invasions. The Army of Gwaelod will sow a wind of destruction across England! Teeheeheeheeheeheehee!”

“But how will random death and destruction through the English countryside bring independence for Wales?” demanded Agatha. “Won't that just strengthen Queen Albia's resolve? Won't it make compromise less likely? She won't want to be seen to give in to threats.”

“Ha! You see everything and understand nothing Heterodyne. After this, any political resolution will be impossible. Albia will move against Wales arbitrarily arresting anyone even suspected of separatism, suppressing dissent, making life for the general population as difficult as possible. This will only increase the anti-English feeling, pushing the populace into our hands and neutralising the weak compromisers who will either be arrested by Albia or seen as collaborators by the Welsh.”

“But how will this help Welsh independence?”

“You foolish woman! Why would I want independence? I don't want to have to run the wretched country, having to worry about laws and budgets and roads and taxes and all the hundred and one annoyances that the little people will whine about, especially if the English won't be there to take the blame and pay for everything. I want power! I want people to do what I say! I want to feel the fear when I walk into a room! I want to be a legend! And I will get that by increasing the divisions between our two countries, by making the two peoples hate and fear each other, with mistrust and violence on both sides. And for that the Welsh will make me a hero for generations! What use have I for independence when it is drawing an arbitrary line across Britain that will make my name live for ever? Look at the Scots, fooled by an Italian Adventurer into rebelling against Albia, yet they still think of that sleazy overweight buffoon as a hero and put his picture on all the souvenir biscuit tins! You know what they call him? Bonny Prince Charlie! Ha!”

 “That is really... clever.” said Krosp, grudgingly impressed. “Power without responsibility. And when you get all your minions killed, they just become martyrs for the cause and inspiration for the next batch of morons.”

“Yes, if Albia kills ten of my freedom fighters and I kill one of her soldiers, then that's a victory for me.” said Yr Wrach with a smirk. “You see, she is weak. She cares about her minions.”

“That is despicable!” shouted Agatha. “You are going to cause all this death, destruction and misery on both sides just so you get to order people around?! Over my dead body!”

Yr Wrach nodded in agreement and casually shot her in the chest at point blank range. Agatha gave a startled gasp and fell backwards. Krosp rushed to help her, but was forced to spring for cover behind the cupboards by a series of wild shots from the little death ray.

“Catch you later Krosp,” called Yr Wrach. “You can hide, but you can't run! You'll make a really cute pair of furry mittens. First I have a village to burn to the ground. Teehehehehehehehe!” Together she and Lord Machen left the cave and closed the door behind them. Krosp heard a key turn in the lock and some large heavy object being placed to bar the entrance. Sure that the coast was clear, he leapt out of cover and ran to Agatha's body, although he knew already he must be too late to save her.


	12. Engines of Mass Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne fights a Dragon_

To Krosp’s immense surprise Agatha sat up and groaned as he reached her.

“I thought you were dead!” he cried in relief. “What happened? Are you OK?”

“I'll be fine. I'm just winded,” she said groggily, looking down at the circular hole burned through her tweed waistcoat. The edges were still smouldering. She took off her jacket, and then unbuttoned the ruined waistcoat and the blouse, to reveal the stout leather bodice beneath. The death ray had burned the surface, but not penetrated all the way through. Agatha carefully unlaced the bodice. Beneath, her camisole was hardly singed and the skin of her stomach was only slightly pink and scalded. Krosp's brain was alive with calculation.

“A low-powered shot! Could this be some kind of double cross where she only pretends to shoot you, while really she is an agent on our side? Or is this a clever triple cross, where she pretends to shoot you so that we think she is really on our side but in fact she is working with the Duke after all?” He frowned and stroked his chin. “Or it might not be as simple as that…”

“No,” interrupted Agatha. “It’s just that it was a really lousy death ray. She may be a Spark, but not a very strong one. She can build a death ray, but not one powerful enough to shoot through stout leather.”

“But can we be sure of that?”

“Oh yes, didn't you hear her laugh? Whoever heard of maniacal laughter that went 'teeheeheehhee'? If she can't do more than a girly giggle when she starts shooting her enemies then she certainly can't build a proper death ray. And once she had decided to shoot me she pulled the trigger without a word. Any Spark worthy of the name would not have been able to resist gloating first. Come on! Let’s get after her!”

“That's all very well,” Krosp warned her as she struggled back to her feet, “but just be careful she doesn't shoot you in the head.”

Agatha had more practical concerns than personal safety on her mind as she laced herself back into her bodice and pulled her jacket on over the top. “First we'll need to get out of here. It shouldn't take long to open the lock on the door.” It didn't. Agatha's little clanks had been developed into extremely effective locksmiths over the years. Unfortunately, it didn't help much, because the door had also been closed with a large bar on the outside that the clanks couldn’t reach. Agatha lost patience. She was in a workshop full of equipment and components after all. She ramped up to full Spark mode and began constructing a device to get them free. In ten minutes she had constructed a small but powerful sonic cannon, covered with dials and glowing lamps. For reasons known only to herself she had made it from the teapot.

“Ha, now we'll soon see about these doors! Watch this!” Agatha laughed happily, pointing the teapot at the door and pushing an ominous big red button. Krosp, long experienced in the ways of Sparks, had no intention of watching anything.  He was already cowering behind something extremely large and heavy with his hands covering his head.

The teapot began to glow and there was a sharp buzzing sound. Agatha let it go, clapping her hands together and laughing in delight as it hovered in the middle of the room. The glow became brighter and the buzz rose to an ear-splitting screech. The incandescent teapot shot forward. Before it had even reached them the doors and 3 metres of wall on either side were blown into pieces by the shock wave. The blast knocked Agatha backwards across the room into one of the workshop shelves. There was a crash as large blocks of stone fell from the ceiling. The disintegrating workbenches and shelves together with every unsecured object in the room smashed into the walls. The teapot, a shining ball of ceramic, shot out through the gaping hole in the wall with a fading Dopplered scream as it soared away into the sky.

There were a few final plinks and clangs as the last of the debris settled and then there came that moment of terrible silence which so often marks the end of a particularly successful experiment in Spark laboratories. Krosp, his eyes like saucers, crawled out from under the debris and staggered across to where Agatha was lying on her back on the far side of the room amid a pile of ruined equipment and smashed furniture. Her hair was smoking ever so slightly, she was covered in dust and her glasses were askew, but otherwise she looked unhurt. In fact, she looked delighted, in an insane and rather stunned sort of way. The excitement of the last days was starting to fray Krosp’s nerves. He jumped onto Agatha’s chest and grabbed the lapels of her jacket.

“YOU WERE ONLY SUPPOSED TO BLOW THE BLOODY DOORS OFF!!” he screamed in her face.

“Whee! Teapot of Destruction go WHOOSH!!” Agatha giggled happily. “OW!” she added as Krosp bit her hand. Her eyes came back into focus. “Oh, right. Defeat the monster. Catch the bad guys, got it, let's go!” She got rather unsteadily to her feet and together they picked their way around the wreckage of the room to the gaping hole where the door and a fair proportion of the wall used to be.

“You know, whatever happens Queen Albia has got a real problem on her hands.” Krosp mused, determined to show he had regained his composure and remained the voice of reason, despite his outburst. “Lord Machen and Yr Wrach win no matter what happens. All the outrages and deaths they cause here will be seen as blows against the oppressor by the naïve nationalists, while if their army gets crushed they will simply use the deaths of all the ‘martyrs’ to recruit another bunch of disposable losers. The only way to break the cycle would be to take out the two ringleaders but any action against such well known people would really set Wales ablaze. You can be sure that they will have distanced themselves from any direct involvement. They can stir up as much trouble as they like, but Albia won't be able to touch them without making things even worse.”

“Hm, I see what you mean,” agreed Agatha, carefully manoeuvring around several large lumps of limestone that were originally the ceiling. “It’s a perfect Xanatos Gambit.” She cleared the last obstacle and walked out onto the grass towards her death knight armour, making a futile attempt to brush the dust from her tattered jacket. “I suppose Albia’s best course of action would be to trick someone from outside Britain to take down Lord Machen and Yr Wrach, preferably another Spark with no connection to her or even better, someone with whom Albia has already been in conflict. Then it could be put down as just another regrettable disagreement between Sparks and the outsider would get all the blame. Obviously nothing to do with internal politics or Her Undying Majesty at all. Now, I wonder who Albia can find gullible enough to…EEP!” She stopped so suddenly that Krosp walked into the back of her legs. Cat and Spark looked at each other as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“At least we’ve finally worked out who's responsible for bringing us here,” Krosp remarked casually. Agatha, predictably, was rather less sanguine.

“I’ll not be manipulated like this you vindictive scheming little cow!” she screamed, shaking her fist at the sky in fury, as though the Queen was some disembodied presence like Castle Heterodyne that could overhear everything she said.

“Oh, I think it’s far too late to be worrying about that Lady Heterodyne,” said a voice from behind them. They turned to see Miss Gaunt step from the shadow of the entrance to the Pit. She was still dressed all in black, but the cumbersome bombazine dress had been replaced by a close fitting jump suit, with a plethora of small pouches and holsters holding weapons and equipment. Although the woman was older than Agatha, her body was clearly in peak condition. She no longer moved with the well-meaning shuffle of a middle-aged housekeeper, but with the dangerous and purposeful grace of a cat. Actually, she moved with considerable more dangerous and purposeful grace than some cats of our acquaintance, who, as I may have already mentioned, have let themselves go a bit since they secured a comfortable position with The Heterodyne.

“You! I should have known!” exclaimed Agatha, regretting that she’d lost her wrench somewhere in the wreckage of the summer house. “You’re the one who’s been arranging everything for Cedric! You’re the one who sent us all those messages pretending to be from him that brought us here! I should have known you were more than you appeared to be when you caught the cup and the saucer I dropped on the terrace.”

“Yes, and I should have realised you were no mere housekeeper when you trapped me with a towel that first night we arrived,” said Krosp grudgingly. “It was all that walking you made me do; it dulled my brain.”

“Actually, I thought the biggest risk I took that might have blown my cover was when I kept serving you tea,” admitted Miss Gaunt, keeping her distance. “I could see that the poor Earl was puzzled. Whoever heard of the housekeeper serving the tea? I really needed to talk to you and it was the only way I could think to do it. As for making conversation with the gentry, well! The maids were scandalised!” She spread her hands to show that she was unarmed, or at least that she was not carrying any weapons in her hands. “You don't mind taking the blame here in Britain do you? I'm sure we can spin it to make you the hero in the Heterodyne Story when you get back home. We are both on the same side, you know. Don't feel too bad about being manipulated by the Her Undying Majesty by the way. She does that to everyone, including me. As you have no doubt deduced I am one of her agents, here to protect Britain.”

Agatha was still scowling, wondering which side she disliked the most.

“Perhaps if you treated the miners properly in the first place, this might not be necessary at all. If we defeat Lord Machen and the Little Princess, won’t they still go on being oppressed?”

“Oppressed? The miners have never had it so good. Those men in the Army of Gwaelod aren’t really miners you know. They may come from the mining villages and they’ve worked down a pit, but they aren’t miners; not the steadfast and hard-working people who are dedicated to serving their country by mining coal. These are all those who hate the hard work and the perseverance needed to be a miner but haven’t the initiative or the imagination to go out into the world to find something else. Life’s passengers who have never made the least effort to better themselves, then complain that life isn’t fair and they’ve never been given a chance.”

“Now that’s exactly the sort of loser who is a prime target for radicalisation by people like Lord Machen. Fill their heads full of historical nonsense and imagined injustice and you can convince them to do whatever you want and that they are perfectly justified in committing any atrocity without guilt. Give them a gun and an excuse to use it and suddenly they can start ordering people around, take whatever they want and shoot anyone who gets in their way. Without effort, they go from the bottom of the heap to unlimited power without responsibility. Of course their lives are likely to be quite short which is where all that silly nonsense about martyrdom comes in. I understand that Ms Yr Wrach has been encouraging them to lay down their lives for the glorious cause by spouting some new age mysticism that they will be rewarded in druidic heaven with 50 beautiful young women.”

“And they believe that?” asked Agatha incredulously.

“They are the sort of people who are happy to delegate their beliefs to someone else rather than take the effort to think for themselves. It can be a very persuasive argument to a social inadequate who can’t get a girlfriend.” Miss Gaunt smiled. “Of course, it is true you know. When they are martyred they do get to live in a house with all those beautiful young women. What they aren’t told is that they have to live with 50 young women in a house that has only one bathroom and only one telephone. You see Lady Heterodyne, they are not going to heaven but hell, and the Devil has a sense of humour.”

Agatha frowned at the use of her title. “Does everyone know I am the Heterodyne? I thought I had been very subtle.”

“My dear, didn't you see the story about you in the Earl's library? Everyone has read it. Did you honestly think that anyone would be fooled by 'Agatha Clay'? Perhaps it’s time to pick another alias, one that isn't known to everyone in Europa. While you're at it, perhaps you could pick one for Emperor Krosp, although as there can't be that many talking Moldovan Puffs that wear a red greatcoat, perhaps a more cunning disguise might be in order.”

“But I've been so careful about talking in front of anyone,” complained Krosp.

Miss Gaunt sighed. “Yes, when you were in front of all of the Lords and Ladies. It didn't occur to you that the servants at the House or the people in the 'Crown and Trumpet' might also like Heterodyne stories? Typical of Cedric really, he forgets the people who aren't gentlefolk have lives and minds and opinions too, even if they aren't the main characters in his story.”

“I’m very disappointed with Cedric,” said Agatha. “I thought I could trust him.”

“Don’t be too hard on him. He isn’t the first honest man turned by a pretty face. You know what the old song says: ‘men’s eyes in summer work quicker than their brains’.”

“Eyes?! Ha! I suspect it’s another part of his anatomy _entirely_ that is doing Cedric’s thinking for him right now! And as to him preferring that _person_ over m… I mean his duty to his Queen… He really has shown shocking judgement!”

Miss Gaunt raised her eyebrows in a suggestive fashion. “Well then Lady Heterodyne, perhaps you need to take appropriate measures to persuade him that his interests lie with you. So, are you going to help me stop these people or not?”

Agatha scowled. “I don't have a choice do I? You know I can't walk away.”

“No you can't. Neither can I. Let's do this. Ms Yr Wrach and the Duke have taken their carriage over to Wamblecropt Farm to give an inspiring talk to the Army of Gwaelod before they send them off to Death and Glory. Of course they won’t be going with the army themselves. They’ll be nowhere near the scene of the action once the bullets start to fly and I expect they are well on their way to Beaufort Palace by now. I'm going back over to Wamblecropt to call in the reinforcements and take care of the Army of Gwaelod. It’s the Red Dragon I’m worried about.  It’s been activated and once it is fully powered up it will coming out of the Pit and looking for something to attack. As far as I can determine it’s a semi-autonomous system that will accompany the Army of Gwaelod and attack anything English it encounters. Your battle armour should be more than a match for it, and it will be to everyone’s benefit if you would destroy it before it gets loose and starts laying waste to the countryside. Then, Her Undying Majesty would take it as a great favour if you could find a way to kill Llithrig Yr Wrach and the Duke of Machen, preferably in front of witnesses.”

“I’ll stop a clank for you,” replied Agatha sternly, “but I’ll not kill in cold blood.”

“That is your decision of course, but if you don’t stop them here you do realise that all this will happen again?” With that, Miss Gaunt turned and hurried away up the hill towards the Beaufort Estate. Agatha glared after her, reflecting that proper Adventures shouldn’t have these sorts of moral dilemma.

As Agatha and Krosp walked to the death knight armour, they noticed a perfectly straight black burn mark across the green grass of the lawn made by the Teapot of Destruction, leading from the wreckage of the summer house cave. Agatha scanned the horizon in its direction of travel but couldn’t see any smoke or fires to indicate where it might have come down.

“I wonder where the teapot ended up,” she asked Krosp idly as they climbed up the ladder into the cockpit.

“Oh, it kept on going up until it achieved a stable orbit around the Sun between the Earth and Mars,” Krosp replied with a sly grin. Agatha paused in thought as she buckled her seat belt.

“You can’t know that,” she said sceptically.

“You can’t prove that it isn’t true though,” retorted the Emperor.

A roar from the mouth of the pit brought them back to the moment. The debate on the philosophy of science could wait until later. Right now Agatha Heterodyne had a dragon to slay.

So far Agatha had only used the death knight armour for getting from place to place, but now that battle was imminent it was time to push the many buttons and switches to activate all the systems. There were more buttons and switches than were strictly necessary because Sparks love pushing buttons and throwing switches. All the lights on the control panel turned green, one after the other. With a hum that grew in pitch and intensity, the death knight armour powered up. Krosp climbed up onto his own little cushioned shelf, above and behind Agatha, from where he could observe the battle and make helpful tactical suggestions. It was situated right over one of the warm air vents from the engine and came complete with a wooden scratching post, although Krosp preferred the leather upholstery of the pilot’s seat when he thought he could get away with it.

“Reactor online. Weapons online. All systems nominal,” said Tarvek’s voice from the speaker. When he recorded the audio status reports he had made full use of his deep Spark harmonics, to remind Agatha that he could and because he knew she liked it.

“Right,” said Agatha, “time to slay a dragon,” and she engaged the gears to send the death knight armour towards the entrance to the Pit. As they arrived the dragon emerged. The head came first, an enormous metallic sculpture of spikes and teeth, almost as large as the death knight armour. With surprising swiftness the rest of the enormous clank followed, slithering like a snake, its legs bent to keep its body close to the ground, so it could fit through the tunnel. As it emerged onto the grassy bank it stood up to its full height, unfurling gigantic metallic wings and raising its long neck as it searched for something to destroy.

From their viewpoint inside the armour, Agatha and Krosp found themselves looking at a pair of massive clank legs, covered in red metallic scales. Agatha tipped the torso of the armour back so they could look up. The viewing window was filled with a huge wall of metal; the chest of the Red Dragon. She tilted back some more and the vast head came into view. The enormous mouth full of sharp metallic teeth slavered with liquid phlogiston. The three asymmetric clank eyes swivelled and telescoped back and forth as the dragon analysed the tiny object in front of it to determine range and optimum attack mode.

“We’re going to need a bigger clank,” said Krosp in a worried voice.

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Agatha. “That thing is crude, slow and stupid. There’s no reason to run away merely because it can incinerate us with a single breath! First rule! If an enemy is in range and in line of sight, shoot it!” She pulled up the death knight armour’s right arm and fired the twin medium laser death rays into the clank’s body. “Second rule! Get behind the enemy!” Still firing, the death knight armour ran towards the Red Dragon as it snapped at the annoying insect running around its feet where its jaws could not reach. Agatha used the classic ‘circle of death’ tactic, swivelling the armour’s torso at 90 degrees to the legs and running down the side of the dragon firing all the time, turning as the dragon turned to try and bite her with its jaws. This meant that her target was always directly in front of her, but that she was moving relative to it so she was more difficult to hit. The missile targeting computer gave her a ‘lock’ tone, so with a press of a button she sent a volley of short-range missiles crashing into the dragon’s body.

The weapons had less effect than Agatha had hoped. Llithrig Yr Wrach may not have been a very strong Spark, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t build something very big and very strong. The death rays and missiles were knocking away the red scales of the dragon’s body and denting the plating underneath, but they weren’t doing any significant damage to the mechanism inside. Agatha used her speed and agility, counting on the dragon’s bulk and slowness to evade its attacks and keep out of range of the inevitable breath weapon. She knew from experience that it was very difficult to create a cognitive engine powerful enough to control a clank as big as this while maintaining fast reaction times. She was sure it would be beyond anything little Princess Pretty-Perfect could achieve.

The dragon gave a high-pitched roar, for all the world like the cry of an angry lizard but in fact the unmistakable sound of a perfectly-balanced vril generator spinning up to full power. With a speed difficult to believe from such a large machine, the dragon suddenly reversed direction. As it span round in the opposite direction it swung its tail like a club. The death knight armour ran straight into it and was knocked for six across the green bank. Agatha and Krosp clung on to their seat belts as the armour bounced and then slammed into the ground. Various unimportant components exploded in a shower of sparks and the plating inside the cockpit buckled and bent alarmingly. One of Agatha’s control panel displays was a little line diagram of the death knight armour. When the battle had started all the lines had been green. Now a distressing number had turned yellow indicating that those areas of the armour had sustained damage. When they turned red, it meant serious damage. When they went grey, it meant that those parts had fallen off.

Agatha wrestled with the controls to get her armour back on its feet. In front of her she saw the Red Dragon towering over her. Its mouth opened and she found herself looking down the phlogiston-projection nozzle in the back of its throat. There was a deep roar of powerful pumps, without any of the poor-tolerance clattering Agatha had come to associate with Lithrig’s tech, as the phlogiston tanks pressurised. Within seconds she would be incinerated.

“Hah!” chortled Agatha, “Perfect!” Krosp gave her a look of pure disbelief. Agatha pulled up the left arm of the death knight armour. “These are twin particle projection cannon,” she explained happily. “A couple of orgone plasma bolts down its throat straight into its phlogiston tanks and it will be game over!” The ready light on the PPCs came on and Agatha pushed the fire button a second before the dragon unleashed its breath weapon. With surprising speed the dragon dodged the two glowing balls of plasma that streaked towards its head, which meant most of the phlogiston it disgorged missed the battle clank and instead incinerated a triangle of grass 30 metres long and 10 metres wide at its furthest point. The death knight armour was saved from the worst of the damage but was still caught on the edge of the inferno. Although the occupants were insulated from any serious harm the right side of the clank was scorched and the right arm containing the death rays lit up red on Agatha’s display. Krosp began activating a swarm of little clanks that were kept inside the death knight armour to repair battle damage. He hoped they could buy them a bit more time.

Agatha knew that she had to hit the dragon now with everything she had while it was still recharging its breath weapon. She wasn’t sure how big its phlogiston tanks might be, but looking at the size of the creature and the intensity of its previous attack, she estimated it wouldn’t be able to breathe more than three times a day before it would need to be regenerate its supply. She put the death knight armour into full reverse and walked away from the dragon to keep out of range of its claws and teeth, then pulled up both arms and opened fire with death rays and PPCs on the body of her opponent. The dragon pursued her, flinching and dodging from the barrage. Agatha pulled a lever and the shoulder-mounted autocannon deployed from its weapons bay. It was a very effective weapon although there was only a limited amount of ammunition, but at this range she knew she couldn’t miss. She pulled the trigger.

Agatha skilfully bracketed the head of the dragon between the death rays and the PPCs and as the dragon tried to dodge she kept the stream of fire from the autocannon focused on the head, specifically at the rear, where she was sure the cognitive engine must be; in order to respond that quickly it had to be located next to the sensors. It would probably be too well protected to damage, but Agatha knew that even the most robust cognitive engine was a delicate mechanism. All those little cogs and sprockets could be shaken out alignment by a sustained vibration, causing the engine to seize up and once that happened the dragon would be merely a very large target. Of course, any half-competent Spark would have included a realignment protocol to restart the engine if that happened, but this would take several minutes at the very least. At the start of the combat, Agatha would have sworn that designing a realignment protocol would have been beyond her rival. Now, having seen the dragon in action she was not so sure.

The PPCs and death rays hit the body of the dragon, sending the metal scales flying and buckling the plating beneath. A well-aimed PPC bolt scored a glancing blow and tore along the side, opening a wide gash to expose the delicate mechanism inside. The dragon shook its head to try and escape from the pummelling of the autocannon, but Agatha kept the stream of fire focused on its head. Its movements became jerky and less co-ordinated. The Gothic sculpture of the head was ruined, but there was still little real damage to the mechanism within, but that wasn’t Agatha’s objective. Then as the ammunition counter of the autocannon wound down to zero, the dragon gave a sudden convulsion and froze, standing like a vast metallic statue on the grass. The plan had worked; the cognitive engine in the dragon had seized.

Agatha knew she only had a few minutes before the system would realign itself. She swung her battle clank into forward motion on full throttle to deliver the _coup de gras_ before the Red Dragon could come back to life. As she rushed past the head it was already starting to twitch as the realignment began. She reached the long gash along the side of the body, raised the clank's arm to point the PPCs at point blank range at the exposed mechanism and pushed the trigger button. It didn't fire. Instead Tarvek's calm voice informed her:

“Reactor temperature critical. Shutting down.” With a slow apologetic sigh, the high pitched hum of the death knight armour decreased in pitch and intensity and then everything went very quiet – except for the sound of Agatha pointlessly hammering on the control panel and screaming “NO! NO!” in frustration.

“Tarvek did tell you that if you wanted an uprated engine you really should have gone for more heat sinks rather than that extra PPC,” Krosp reminded her.

The two clanks stood helpless, the death knight armour powerless until its reactor cooled down, the Red Dragon still realigning its cognitive engine. Agatha knew the dragon would win the race. Now it was a question of whether the immobile armour would offer the best protection or whether they should try and make a break for it in the open. Neither option looked particularly promising.

From this position Agatha had a fine close up view of the exposed workings of the Red Dragon through the enormous hole torn in its side. She was miffed to see that although the plating showed the poor workmanship of her hated rival, the reactor itself and the other components that she could see looked rather good. No wonder the battle had been tougher than she had expected. She wondered if Llithrig had another collaborator somewhere. In fact the design looked somewhat familiar. Then she noticed the small trilobite sigil plate on the side of the orgone slave cylinder.

“I do not believe this!” she snorted in exasperation. “She's using one of my own reactors! No doubt that's one of my cognitive engines in there too! And that vril generator!  And the phlogiston pumps! No wonder this thing has been so tough!”

“Why the surprise?” Krosp asked. “We do sell all these things to whoever wants to buy them you know. It's our second biggest source of income after tourism.”

“But we have an ethical arms supply policy! How could a bunch of terrorists be allowed to buy materials from us so they could build a weapon of mass destruction?!”

Krosp knew that despite her insistence on ethical standards, Agatha focussed on the research and development side of Mechanicsburg's trade and left all the boring sales and marketing part to her Seneschal. Although Vanamonde von Mekkhan was, on the whole, a good man, his idea of an ethical customer was one who paid in advance with gold.

“No doubt, she obtained it through a dealer, probably on the black market,” he assured her evasively. “You can't keep control of everything once it leaves Mechanicsburg you know.”

“Maybe, but that gives me a way to beat this thing after all. Its power couplings and phase convertors will be compatible with ours. Tarvek built this armour using our components.” Swiftly she issued instructions to several of the little clanks crawling around the death knight armour trying to jury-rig repairs. They ran out through access ports and opened one of the armour’s external service hatches. Inside the main reactor was glowing an alarming cherry red, on the edge of a terminal, catastrophic explosion. The clanks disconnected the reactor's main power leads, while others produced a long length of cable from the spares compartment which they spliced onto the power conduits that had been disconnected from the reactor. Two more took the other end, flew across to the dragon and connected it to one of the power connectors of the Red Dragon's reactor. As they made the connection, there was a low hum, rising in pitch and intensity as Agatha's battle clank came back on line, powered by the reactor core of the dragon.

At that moment, the Red Dragon came awake as the sprockets of its cognitive engine finished their realignment. It twisted around and stretched out an arm with outspread talon for the death knight armour. Agatha pulled up the armour’s arm and pushed the fire button. The death rays, with power from a far larger reactor than they had been designed for, gave out two brilliant beams of continuous light, almost too bright to look at, and neatly severed the dragon’s talon. Agatha kept her finger on the trigger and slowly brought the beam along the body of the dragon, slicing it open and destroying the internal mechanism. The huge clank writhed, rolled over and, as the death rays cut through the main mechanical linkages it collapsed. Agatha brought both arms around to point at the neck of the dragon and used the overcharged PPCs and death rays to slice off its head. The Red Dragon gave one final spasm and died. 

At that point, Tarvek announced happily. “Reactor temperature within safety tolerances. Restarting.” Agatha signalled for the little clanks to disconnect from the dragons reactor and reconnect the internal power supply. The death knight armour powered back down and then, with a hum that increased in pitch and intensity, the death knight armour restarted under its own power.

“Lucky you didn’t hit the phlogiston tank,” said Krosp looking at the smoking wreck of the dragon.

“Don’t worry,” Agatha assured him, “I was pretty sure where the explosive components would be and I was careful to aim well away from them. If we had been this close when they exploded then…”

Her eyes suddenly opened very wide as she noticed that a steady stream of glowing phlogiston was pouring from a ruptured pipe onto the dragon’s steaming reactor and melting the outer casing. Hoping that the death knight armour reactor had cooled down enough, she turned and sprinted away from the body of the Red Dragon at maximum speed. She’d managed to go about 100 metres when an enormous wave of heat, light and sound picked them up and threw them into the air for the second time that day. The armour sailed high over the grass, landed heavily, bounced up into the air spinning wildly, bounced again and then came to a final stop, face down. Very slowly, like a dazed man, it got unsteadily to its feet and looked back at the enormous flame-filled crater that had been blown in the side of the hill. Its occupants breathed a long sigh of relief.

“So, that’s the Red Dragon taken care of,” said Krosp. “What next? Back to Edgehill House for a well-earned saucer of cream perhaps?”

“No,” said Agatha, “now we go and save the village. Let’s go!” She engaged the gears and headed up the slope towards Wamblecropt valley. As they crested the hill they saw the Army of Gwaelod assembled beneath them in the fields surrounding the farm buildings, perhaps half a mile away. Calling it an army was perhaps being overly dramatic – they were only about two hundred in total and half of them were Helwyr armed with clubs. They were all looking up at the hill, obviously expecting the appearance of the mighty Red Dragon to spearhead their fight for freedom. When they saw the Heterodyne death knight armour, silhouetted on the skyline by the raging inferno that marked the grave of the Red Dragon, an angry murmur went through the ranks. There were several shots in their direction, ineffective at such long range, but it made their intent perfectly clear. The Army of Gwaelod began to form up to do battle with the Heterodyne.

Krosp looked at the army in horror and then looked at the damage display. One of the death rays in the right arm had been fused by the excessive power. The shoulder-mounted autocannon had been ripped off and the targeting engine for the missiles was off-line again. Most of the body of the armour was shown in red, indicating that the structure was on the verge of disintegration. There weren’t any green lights left illuminated on the control panel at all.

“Agatha, quick. Turn this thing around and let’s get out of here. Hey, hey, no, backwards, _backwards_.”

The clank adopted a combat pose at the top of the slope, its weapons covering the gap in the boundary wall through which the attacking army would have to come to meet them.

“We have to try and stop them Krosp,” Agatha said. “If they get into the village they could kill lots of people.”

“No! There is no way that you can stop them on your own, not with the armour this damaged. We need to warn people, get help. Let Miss Gaunt deal with it. It's her country. The external loudspeakers are still working. You can have a good rant at them before they get within range if it will make you feel any better.”

Agatha ignored him and began the sequence to recharge and rearm the weapons, directing the little clanks swarming over the structure to prioritise the damage repairs. He tugged at her sleeve.

“No! Are you insane?!” He was answered by a burst of delighted maniacal laughter. “No further questions.” He slumped into the bottom of the cockpit and looked for the best place to hide amongst the damaged armour plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Anyone who has ever played Mech Warrior may recognise certain elements of the battle between the death knight armour and the dragon, especially the part where your mech’ overheats and shuts down at the critical moment because you gave it too many weapons and not enough heat sinks._
> 
> _As yet, no-one has proved that the Teapot of Destruction is not in a stable orbit around the Sun between the Earth and Mars._
> 
> _https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell%27s_teapot_


	13. The Battle of Wamblecropt Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which the Army of Gwaelod reaps the whirlwind_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning! In this chapter our heroes confront the Villains! There may be violence done to characters you actually care about._

Agatha had more time to prepare for battle than she had thought. Although the Army of Gwaelod was in principle eager to fight the representatives of their English oppressors face-to-face, when it came down to it no-one was particularly keen to lead the charge against the battle clank that had just destroyed the mighty Red Dragon. Even the Helwyr were reluctant to charge. Their transformation may have made them less intelligent but they weren’t stupid; yesterday’s encounter with The Heterodyne had made a big impression.

The little clanks swarming over the death knight armour took advantage of the delay to reload the short-range missile launchers and reset the targeting system. They even managed to repair and strengthen some of the armour plating. Both PPCs and one of the death rays were still operational. The clank remained badly damaged but at least it wasn’t about to fall apart the first time it received a blow from a Heliwr’s club and there were still plenty of working weapons with which to shoot back.

As the army milled around in the fields of the valley, forming up for an attack but somehow never quite ready to charge, they were distracted by a shadow that fell across Wamblecropt Valley. Looking up they saw three gigantic ominous black airships in perfect V formation high in the sky, blocking out the sun.

\------------------*

In a coppice on the edge of the valley, Miss Gaunt watched the airships as they circled overhead. She took a small device from one of the pouches on her utility belt and swiftly wound the clockwork. At the press of a switch her invention opened like a flower, revealing a small typewriter keyboard, a brightly-glowing aetheric lamp surrounded by a complicated arrangement of lenses and shutters and a miniature sighting scope. Miss Gaunt focused the scope onto a marker light near the nose of the lead airship. Once locked on the small cognitive engine tracked the optics to the receiver high above. With well-honed skill Miss Gaunt typed in a message at the keyboard and pressed the Send key. Clockwork whirred in the automatic heliotype, operating a mechanical shutter in front of the lamp to send an encoded Morse code message, too fast for a human eye to read but perfectly understandable to the receiving engine on board the airship, which transmitted it directly to the Captain on the bridge:

**[Agent 001 to HMS Stirling. Four dirigibles were requested for this operation. Query.]**

The Captain relayed his reply back using a similar device, although of course he had a crewman to do the actual typing for him. His message flashed down to Miss Gaunt’s heliotype, which helpfully displayed it on a thin ticker tape.

**[HMS Stirling to 001: Apologies. HMS Manchester aborted mission returned to Cardington with engine problems.]**

“What, again?” agent 001 said to herself, in exasperation. She turned back to her keyboard.

**[001 to HMS Stirling. Targets located at co-ordinates B17, B24, A26, B25. Confirm.]**

**[HMS Stirling to 001. Confirm target co-ordinates B17, B24, A26, B25. We see additional battle clank at co-ordinate P51. Potential hostile. Advise.]**

Agent 001 looked across the valley at Agatha's death knight armour standing on the top of the hill and her hand hovered over the heliotype keyboard in indecision. The Red Dragon had obviously been destroyed and she thought it unlikely that Lady Heterodyne would do the decent thing and kill Lord Machen or Llithrig Yr Wrach. This would be an excellent opportunity to destroy The Heterodyne, but despite Albia's personal animosity, would that really be in her best interest or that of her Empire? She made the call.

**[001 to HMS Stirling. Clank in sector P51 is friendly, repeat friendly. Do not, repeat do not engage.]**

After all, Lady Heterodyne seemed like a pleasant person in her own way. Agent 001 met few enough in her line of work and it would be a shame to kill her for no better reason than that Her Undying Majesty hated her guts.

**[HMS Stirling to 001: Copy that. Forming for attack run.]**

Heliotype messages flashed between the airships.

**[HMS Stirling to HMS Halifax: assume starboard attack position]**

**[HMS Stirling to HMS Lancaster: assume port attack position]**

**[HMS Halifax to HMS Stirling: confirm starboard attack position]**

**[HMS Lancaster to HMS Stirling: confirm port attack position]**

**[001 to all ships: Weapons free]**

**[HMS Stirling to 001: All ships confirm weapons free]**

Agent 001 pressed the switch on the heliotype and it folded back into its box. Placing it in her belt she descended the far side of the ridge, away from the assembled army, to where a fast horse was waiting, its engine quietly ticking over. It was time to be as far away from Wamblecropt Valley as possible.

\----------*

The three airships turned to begin a pass directly over the Army of Gwaelod, spacing themselves out in line abreast. Agatha was increasingly distracted by their odd design, despite Krosp's frustrated attempts to keep her focused on the immediate threat. Although their black undersides, green and brown camouflaged upper surfaces and immense size spoke of military dirigibles, they seemed to have hardly any armaments, merely short range guns for self-defence. The warships of Europa were generally versatile weapons of war, able to carry and land troops for a ground assault and then provide close fire support from heavy guns, bombs and airpedoes. These airships had no sign of landing ramps, air-to-ground weapons or even windows, apart from an obvious bridge structure near the bow. Instead a single flat integral gondola with long thin doors stretched almost the entire length of the underside of each airship. They looked like cargo bays, but with doors along the floor of the bay? What cargo would they deliver and anyway they were flying far too high to land.

Fortunately the Army of Gwaelod was also distracted by the dirigibles. Even well-disciplined troops find it impossible to resist shooting at aerial targets despite the fact that they are clearly far out of range. The Army of Gwaelod was not by any stretch of the imagination well disciplined. Krosp clung to a forlorn hope that they might waste all their ammunition shooting at the airships and not have any left for Agatha. At least their ex-Argentine army muskets were finally being fired in anger.

As the airships came overhead for their pass along the valley the long doors opened and suddenly Agatha understood. “They are just flying bomb bays,” she whispered in amazement. Even as she spoke from high above the bombs began to fall, spreading out to form a perfect three dimensional pattern that filled the sky, each bomb kept in its assigned position against drift and wind by small moveable fins driven by a rudimentary clockwork cognitive engine.

It is doubtful how much the freedom fighters of the Army of Gwaelod understood what was about to happen to them before the first bomb fell. Certainly the Helwyr showed no sign of comprehension. Some of the human soldiers tried to flee, ignoring the shouts of their shop stewards to keep in ranks. It did not help. The spread of the bombs encompassed the entire valley and reached further than anyone could run in time.

The first bomb hit the ground in front of the army and sent a shock wave that Agatha felt through the air and through the ground even inside the cockpit of the death knight armour. The terrified screams from the human soldiers as they comprehended the pattern of death descending on them was rapidly drowned as the roar of detonating bombs ceased to be individual explosions and became a constant wall of sound and pressure. In the bottom of the cockpit, Krosp pressed his paws against his head in a vain attempt to keep the agonising noise from his sensitive ears. The explosions marched across the valley like a towering black tsunami of ruptured earth and shrapnel crowned by red foam of fire and napalm, not pausing as it swept over humans, Helwyr, buildings, trees and walls. The armoured glass windscreen in the death knight armour cracked along its length. Agatha fought to keep the clank upright as the ground shook and a wall of pressure pushed it backwards. Struggling against the confusing barrage of noise she backed down the far slope of the hill to take cover.

Finally, the sound stopped, the sudden cessation coming like a thunder clap. The three dirigibles closed their bomb doors, resumed their V formation and climbed away as they turned for home. It seemed to Agatha that it had been several hours since the bombs had begun to fall, but it had probably been no more than two or three minutes. Krosp, mewing piteously, clung to her ankles. She picked him up and held him in her arms for a long minute until he calmed down. Sometimes, even Emperors need a hug. Placing the cat back into his seat, she took the clank back up the slope to face what remained of the army of Gwaelod. The scene that confronted her made her gasp in horror.

The beautiful valley that had contained the Army of Gwaelod was simply gone. There were no wrecked machines, bodies, broken trees, ruined buildings or wounded men. Instead everything was churned into an amorphous mass of ploughed earth in which were mixed metal shards, shattered wood, fragments of stone and charred fragments of flesh and bone. Nothing was recognisable. The people, buildings, hedgerows, trees, walls and roads had all vanished, mixed together into a vast brown cauterised morass in which nothing, not even the grass, was left alive. [Editor’s note: Actually, a subsequent survey by the Battle Damage Assessment Squadron of the Royal Aerostat Force found that a stand of Japanese Knotweed growing at the very centre of the bombardment area sprouted again after three days].

Agatha's voice was quiet in shock and awe. “This is not war. There is no warning, no ultimatum, no chance to surrender, no mercy, no pity. This is just the deliberate, cold and calculated total annihilation of your enemy, of all his equipment, of all his lands, everything that he possesses. There is not even a chance to run.” Her eyes shone with insane enthusiasm. “I have _got_ to have some of those.”

“Focus!” Krosp ordered, afraid she would start dismantling the death knight armour to make a prototype dirigible engine. “The question is, did the Duke and Llithrig get caught up in the bombardment? If they’re still alive then all this will have been pointless.” He pulled his observation periscope into position and scanned the landscape. “There they are! I thought they would be running as soon as things got dangerous. There! On the far side of the Valley! In that carriage racing back towards the Palace! Come on! They haven’t got too much of a head start. We should be able to catch them before they reach cover.” Agatha engaged the gears of the death knight armour and ran down the hill in pursuit.

“Would it be better to take the tunnel and cut them off?” suggested Krosp.

“I don’t think so,” replied Agatha. “It was pretty shallow and there wasn’t any shoring up. If that bombardment hasn’t collapsed it, it’s likely to come down at any minute. With the drilling clank still over at the Secret Laboratory, I’m not going to risk getting buried alive.”

At full speed the death knight armour should have been able to easily overtake a horse-drawn carriage. Agatha couldn’t help but remind Krosp that she was right after all to have insisted on the uprated engine. So long as she didn’t have to make excessive use of the weapons there wouldn’t be any danger of the reactor overheating. Unfortunately the churned quagmire of Wamblecropt Valley proved to be a more difficult obstacle than she anticipated. It was like trying to walk across a muddy ploughed field and as the earth built up on the death knight armour’s feet it began to slip and slide. To make matters worse as they went in further the clank started to sink deeper and deeper into the churned earth with each step until Agatha was worried that it might get completely stuck.

“Shame you didn’t have the jump jets,” remarked Krosp. Agatha scowled at him.

In the end she walked back out to the edge of the devastated fields and went the long way round along the Valley’s rim. As they were on the Duke’s property, Agatha felt less guilty about blowing holes through hedgerows and stampeding the livestock than she might normally have done.

Finally they reached the road that led from the Wamblecropt Valley to Beaufort Palace and they were off in hot pursuit again at full speed. Even so, they did not catch the fugitives before they reached the formal gardens of the palace. They found the empty carriage tied up at the ornate gate, but the horses pulled their tethers free and bolted when they saw the death knight armour charging towards them.

Agatha knocked down the wrought-iron gates and looked across the gardens for her quarry. Two small figures were visible moving across the immaculate lawn towards the Palace.

 “Look, there they are,” shouted Krosp. “Now’s our chance! Shoot them!”

Agatha activated the remaining death ray and the PPCs then brought the arms of the death knight armour up into a firing position. She had a perfect shot, but she paused, her fingers hovering over the triggers in indecision.

“What are you waiting for?” yowled Krosp, jumping up and down on his seat in frustration. “Shoot them! _Shoot them_!! SHOOT!! THEM!!”

“I can’t,” Agatha told him, “not while they’re defenceless and running away!” Krosp rolled his eyes in frustration.

“General Zog says that that doesn’t matter!”

“I’m not General Zog!” Agatha retorted.

Krosp muttered under his breath and wished, not for the first time, that there were Jägers in this Adventure. “OK, fine, so in that case fire some warning shots in front of them and get them to stop and surrender. Maybe if we catch them before they can escape Albia will have enough to arrest them after all. We can leave all the messy loose ends for her to sort out.” Agatha angled her weapons up, but still didn’t fire.

“Now what?!” shouted Krosp in frustration.

“I can’t start destroying this beautiful garden. Not after all the work and effort that’s gone into making it! It would break Mr Chitters’ heart!”

“Agh! All right, so run after them, get in front of them, point the weapons at their heads and tell them to put their hands in the air and wait for further instructions!”

Agatha engaged the gears to move the death knight armour forward, but at the first step she gave a horrified squeal as the heavy clank sank into the perfect lawn and left a horrible disfiguring footmark. She took a step backwards and then moved on to the gravel walkway. The path was far too narrow for the death suit armour so, in order to keep off the grass, Agatha had to use every ounce of her skill to manoeuvre it on tip toe, holding the arms of the clank above its head for balance. The death knight armour looked like a ballerina moving across the stage on her points. Meanwhile in the cockpit, Krosp attacked his scratching post in a flurry of furious frustration. It was either that or throttle Agatha.

Walking the death knight armour through the perfect gardens of Beaufort Palace without causing any damage apart from that first unfortunate footprint was a feat of unparalleled piloting skill, but unfortunately it did rather defeat the object of the exercise, because by the time Agatha and Krosp arrived at the house, Lord Machen and Llithrig Yr Wrach had already reached it and run inside. There was nothing for it but to pursue them on foot. As she climbed down from death knight armour Agatha took a large tube-shaped device from underneath the pilot’s seat; she never went anywhere without a portable death ray.

They ran into the house through the entrance the Villains had taken, ignoring the servants, all of whom had well-enough developed survival instincts not to complain about such a flagrant breach of etiquette. There was no need to ask directions. There was only one place that a defeated Spark would run to; her Secret Laboratory. Sure enough, the secret door leading downwards had been left open. From below they could heard a wheezing and clanking that had to be the badly-built boilers of the Brass Butterfly being brought up to pressure.

“Maybe we should go back outside and get them as they come up,” suggested Krosp as they ran down the stairs.

“Not now we are in hot pursuit,” replied Agatha. “Anyway, they won’t be going anywhere in that useless pile of junk. We left the drilling clank parked in the exit tunnel, remember? We’ve got them trapped!”

They reached the bottom of the staircase and burst through the doorway into the workshop. Lord Machen and Llithrig were sitting in the cockpit of the Brass Butterfly, which had almost built up enough pressure to fly. Llithrig gave a horrified cry when she saw them and raised her little pink gun. There was a flash and a crack as her shot blistered the paintwork on the door frame above Agatha's head.

“Look out!” cried Krosp, “She's got a Death Ray!”

The Heterodyne smiled [that broad, happy, insane smile](http://www.girlgeniusonline.com/comic.php?date=20071005) that still stalks Ardsley Wooster’s nightmares. “That’s not a Death Ray,” she laughed, hoisting the device she carried onto her shoulder as it unfolded into a metre-long abomination of glowing tubes, brass mechanism and Mad Science. “ _This_ is a Death Ray.” At least three separate targeting mechanisms deployed from the main barrel. Agatha aimed at the Brass Butterfly and pulled the trigger. The workshop was illuminated by a bright blue pulse of orgone plasma that raced across the room and tore into the body of the _ornithopter_ , tearing it apart with a screech of tortured metal and spilling its occupants onto the floor. With a roar, the boilers ruptured, filling the room with a dense cloud of steam. Agatha cackled with maniacal laughter and rushed into the cavern, ignoring Krosp’s warnings as he followed behind her. Through the steam they saw Lord Machen pick himself up and sprint through the open doorway into the store room beyond.

Llithrig slowly got to her feet and tried to follow, but although her expensive high heels might have been perfect for an elegant walk across the drawing room to show off the curve of her legs to best advantage, they were not really fit for the purpose of fleeing in terror. She just managed to totter through the door to the storeroom before Agatha charged through behind her and pushed her up against a cupboard. Llithrig turned in appalled astonishment to face her enemy. She raised her hands above her head and her little pink death ray fell to the floor from nerveless fingers. Three red spots from the Heterodyne Death Ray’s targeting engine converged on her forehead and there was a happy little peep-peep sound to indicate a positive lock.

“You!” she shrieked in fear, “You should be dead! I shot you!”

“Ha!” gloated Agatha, enjoying herself more than she had done for quite some time. “Your puny weapons are useless against my Advanced Science! Did you seriously think you could defeat Agatha Heterodyne with your pathetic imitation of the Jägerdraft, your clumsy clanks and your ill-conceived Evil Plan? Face it, you never stood a chance against The Heterodyne!  Don’t even think of trying to escape. You can’t run faster than a death ray, especially wearing those ridiculous girly shoes. Now let’s find your pudgy Uncle and then we’ll get you both handed over to the proper authorities.” She pushed some buttons on her death ray to activate the tracking grid. As she was peering at screen, looking for the red dot that would mark the Duke of Machen’s position among the maze of furniture, the man himself stepped out from the cover of a large cupboard and hit Agatha from behind hard on the head with a block of wood. As her legs folded up beneath her and she slipped into unconsciousness Agatha had the dubious pleasure of realising that she had been right all along. A strong Spark really could not resist gloating, rather than just shooting her enemy without a word when she had the chance.

Krosp rushed to help but suddenly found himself hoisted ignominiously into the air like a kitten by the scruff of his neck. Cedric had stepped out from behind a stack of shelving and grabbed him. The Earl dropped the Emperor of All Cats, helplessly spitting and clawing at the air, into a stout canvas bag and pulled the draw string at the top shut so only Krosp's protesting head projected. Then, to stop the cat using his claws to rip open the canvas, he bound the bag with thick cord. At least, being a gentleman, Cedric did have the courtesy to apologise as he tied the knots. Sure that his prisoner was secure, he carefully placed the bag in a corner of the room.

Llithrig Yr Wrach picked up her little pink death ray and levelled it at Agatha’s unconscious body. For an awful moment Krosp thought she was going to pull the trigger. Then she seemed to change her mind and instead ordered Lord Machen and Cedric to carry her rival through into the Secret Laboratory. The two men picked up Agatha and struggled through the doorway with their burden, followed by Llithrig contributing a string of unnecessary orders and useless suggestions.

Krosp heard the sound of soft thumps and the rustling of cloth. His heart sank. He had been bound so well that escape was impossible, which wasn’t the way that Heterodyne Stories were supposed to work at all as far as he was concerned. When the Villains tie up one of the Heroes and leave him unguarded he is supposed to be able to free himself and effect a daring rescue. Krosp made a mental note to have a stern word with the Earl of Albemarle at the earliest opportunity. As it was, he was helpless in the bag and if Agatha was still unconscious or worse, who was going to rescue him?

\---------------*

A short while later the two men came back into the workshop and closed the door behind them, leaving Llithrig in the Secret Laboratory with Agatha. For obvious reasons Lord Machen had changed into a long black dress, complete with an old lady’s bonnet, a shawl, black lace gloves and a wig with grey ringlets. It was a look that rather suited him.

“You won't get away with this!” Krosp snarled. Clichéd, he thought, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say under the circumstances. The Duke laughed, not the insane laughter of a Spark but the hearty malicious laughter of a man who enjoys a good joke at someone else's expense.

“We already have. You think we didn't plan for every contingency? I'm wearing the lady's clothes ready for my escape. A small, inconspicuous carriage is waiting to carry myself and Ms Yr Wrach, disguised as an elderly spinster and her companion, to the ferry for Wales. There I will take up residence at Castle Machen, where many loyal servants will swear that I have been staying for this entire unfortunate incident.”

“What about Beaufort Palace?”

“I've always hated this house. Too gloomy, drafty and stuck up here high and dry. The wind blows straight through the walls you know. It suffers terribly from the damp and I've never managed to stop the damned roof from leaking. Unfortunately, it will doubtlessly be burned to the ground very soon. In the ruins will be found the body of the Evil Agatha Heterodyne and her abomination-of-science minion, no doubt responsible for this entire terrible plot against our Beloved Queen. Of course the Palace is magnificently insured as are all the hideously tasteless but priceless family heirlooms it contains. With the money I should be able to build a proper country retreat in the modern style, with draft-proof PVC double glazing and central heating in every room.”

“And what about you Cedric?” Krosp snarled. “You are a traitor to Queen Albia! How do you think posterity will remember you?! Who do you think you will be in the history books, George Washington or Benedict Arnold?!” The Earl looked at Krosp with an appalled look on his face and the cat knew his barb had struck home. Only now did Cedric realise the full magnitude of his betrayal and what the consequences of his actions would be. Appealing to his sense of justice was a sure way to re-establish his loyalty to her Undying Majesty.

“Stop gawking like an idiot and get out of here,” Lord Machen told him roughly before he could reply.  “Get back to your little house and make sure you stick to the story that we told you when Albia's Peacekeepers come calling? Understand little man?”

With his eyes downcast, Cedric left the room without a word.

“Doormat,” said the Duke contemptuously to Krosp once Cedric had gone. “Enough wit to play the part we gave him and stupid enough to keep playing the patsy right up to the end.”

“I take it the 'story' you've given him will incriminate him and leave him to take all the blame for this mess?” asked Krosp.

“Of course. After all, he is the one that invited the Evil Agatha Heterodyne to England and she was staying in his house. The Pit is on his land. Albia’s forces have conveniently eradicated any evidence that could have linked the Army of Gwaelod to me. My plans may have been thwarted this time, but it matters not. The World Shall Hear From Me Again!”

“Impressive,” Krosp admitted. “You seem to have thought of almost everything. There is only one thing you have overlooked. Why am I still alive?”

“Oh don't worry, that is a loose end that we will be tidying up very soon, but both you and your tubby little mistress have far too much entertainment value to be killed out of hand. After all our hard work and cleverness over the last few weeks, I think that we deserve a little amusement before we go, don't you think?”

Krosp breathed a sigh of relief. At least Agatha was still alive. The human part of his brain was disappointed with the Lord Machen and Llithrig Yr Wrach. If he had had such a dangerous opponent as himself at his mercy, his only sensible course of action would have been to kill himself straight away. On the other hand, the cat part of his brain knew how much fun it was to torture your prey before you killed it. The Duke walked over and picked up Krosp's bag.

“No time like the present, hey?” he told the cat cheerfully.

\---------------------*

Agatha came round slowly, with a splitting headache and pains in her arms and legs. She had had enough Adventures not to be surprised to find that she had been manacled spread eagled on the operating table in Llithrig's laboratory. It was traditional after all. With a sinking feeling, she realised her outer garments had been removed, and she was wearing only her camisole and pantalettes. Again traditional, but somehow it was always funnier in a Heterodyne Story than in real life. For some reason she was still wearing her respectable striped wool stockings and sensible outdoor shoes. Probably the Villains had been in a hurry and hadn't been able to undo the special triple-secure knots that she used to tie her shoe laces. She raised her head carefully and looked around. The only person in the room was Llithrig. When the druidess saw that Agatha was awake she sashayed over and sat on the side of the operating table, leaning over her prisoner with an amused predatory look on her face. She sniggered and ran her fingers slowly and expertly down the front of Agatha's camisole in a most disturbing manner.

“Oh my dear, I can't believe that people actually wear underwear like this,” she purred. “Still, I don't suppose that you were ever expecting anyone else to see you in it were you?”

“Listen, you cow,” retorted Agatha with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances, “I'll have you know that the heir to the Wulfenbach Empire and the Storm King are both in love with me.”

“In love with someone that takes a size 18 in dresses and wears glasses? Don't delude yourself! I mean, when was the last time you actually looked in a mirror? They are in love with the prestige of the Heterodyne; the power of Mechanicsburg. Do you really think that either of them will be still care a fig for you in ten years’ time when you weigh twenty stone and those out-sized breasts reach all the way down to your waist? Please! Now I, with my naturally slim and beautiful figure, will still be attractive even when I'm forty and I'm sure a Europan Overlord married to a fat old bag with an enormous backside will be more than ready for some excitement with the beautiful and dangerous leader of the radical organisation leading the opposition to the tyranny of Albia.”

“I’m a 12!” exclaimed Agatha indignantly, “well usually,” she added defensively. “Some dressmakers do tend to cut their clothes a bit tight…”

Further discussions on couture were curtailed when Lord Machen walked into the room carrying Krosp, still tightly bound in the canvas bag. He hitched up his dress and drop-kicked the helpless cat across the room. Krosp hit the far wall hard with an agonised howl. The Duke laughed uproariously:

“Three points! HAHAHA!”

Agatha could only watch in horror.  “Stop it, please, stop it! If you want to hurt someone, hurt me, not him.”

“My dear fat Agatha,” purred Llithrig, “we are hurting you. You don't think we care anything about some worthless construct do you? But you do, because you are weak. Using your little minion to practise a few drop goals will hurt you far more than anything we can do to you personally, although rest assured I shall be putting that to the test very soon.”

Lord Machen strode across the room and picked up Krosp where he had fallen, tossing him in the air, testing the weight for his next kick.

“Surely you must know what a cat is for, Lady Heterodyne?” he chortled happily. “It's there to be kicked when things go wrong. Thanks to you, things really have gone wrong haven't they?”

With a casual swing of his leg he kicked Krosp back across the room towards the door of the Secret Laboratory. Instead of another painful impact, the cat was caught and held. Cedric had walked into the room and fielded Krosp before he hit the wall. There was an expression of grim resolution on his face that Agatha had not seen before.

“Cedric dear!” exclaimed Llithrig. “What are you doing here? You should be back at your house to establish your story!”

The Earl of Albemarle ignored her. “I thought about what you said,” he told Krosp, “and I have decided that history will remember me as Benedict Arnold.” Krosp's heart sank. He had obviously failed to reassert Cedric’s loyalty to Her Undying Majesty. The Earl produced a sharp hunting knife from his coat and slashed at the helpless cat imprisoned in the canvas bag. There was a terrible ripping, tearing sound as the knife sliced. Krosp screeched in fear.

“Cedric! No!!” screamed Agatha.


	14. Nemesis!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Ms Llithrig Yr Wrach learns the importance of mastering a foreign language_

Cedric dropped the knife, reached through the slash in the canvas bag made by his careful cut and pulled out Krosp, completely uninjured, by the scruff of his neck. “Get D’Arcy! Ready?” he ordered and then without waiting for an answer he threw the cat overarm at Lord Machen’s head with all the pace and accuracy of a man who used to open the bowling for Eton. The Duke, still puzzled by what that idiot Albemarle was doing, was suddenly hit in the face by an angry and terrified feline, its legs outstretched with claws and tail extended. He clutched at his face in helpless screaming agony as Krosp clung on and made full use of his claw/claw/bite/claw/claw attacks. “Minion, eh?” snarled the Emperor of All Cats through a mouthful of nose.

Cedric turned to Llithrig Yr Wrach with unconscious dignity. “I have been a traitor, but thanks to Krosp I have been redeemed. Like Benedict Arnold, I may have betrayed her Undying Majesty, but in the end I have seen the error of my ways and will be faithful to my Queen.” Llithrig, unimpressed by his noble sentiments, drew her little death ray and shot him. Fortunately her aim was awful and she only hit him in the leg. A proper death ray would have removed the limb at the very least. On the other hand, Cedric's tweed trousers didn't give the same level of protection as the multiple layers of clothing worn by respectable Europan young ladies. The shot burned a hole in his thigh and he collapsed to the ground, grasping at the wound. With a smirk, Yr Wrach walked up to him and levelled her gun at his forehead as he sat helpless with his back to the wall.

“Such a pity,” she told him with a little smile. “Rather entertaining, but sentiment is for fools.” As her finger tightened on the trigger she was hit from behind and slammed into the floor by a large and heavy object moving with some speed. The shot pinged harmlessly wide as she was pinned down with the wind knocked from her lungs. She struggled to get up, but a strong hand grasped the back of her neck and pushed her face into the flagstones.

“Stay still and don’t move,” snarled Lady Heterodyne from her position sitting astride her rival Spark.

“How...?” gasped Llithrig in amazement, twisting her head enough to see the empty surgical table. The restraints had been neatly cut through. One of Agatha's little clanks, equipped with a small but sharp and powerful built-in circular saw, sat in the middle of the table. It gave her a friendly wave and a chime.

“Oh, I've found that when I'm in an Adventure, and some other Spark just happens to have a surgical table equipped with manacles, sooner or later I end up strapped to it,” Agatha explained in a friendly tone, “so when I get the chance I like to leave behind a little insurance. Remember when I ‘accidentally’ knocked over that tray of surgical instruments? You called me a ‘clumsy great elephant’ if I remember.”

“Get off me you fat cow!” Llithrig yelled, struggling ineffectually to get up. Agatha scowled and bounced up and down, ever so lightly. Llithrig gasped as her rib cage flexed.

Agatha turned to Cedric, who was still on the floor staunching the blood flowing from the wound in his leg. It didn't look too bad, but he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. “You know,” she told him. “Herr von Zinzer isn't going to be happy when he finds out about this. I rather think he owns the intellectual property rights on people pointing weapons at his head without him actually getting killed. Mind you, you did manage to get shot a little didn't you? I'm afraid you have no future as a minion after all.”

Across the room there was a sudden howl as the Duke finally managed to remove the cat attached to his face. He threw Krosp to the ground hard, then picked up a large hammer from the tool bench and held it over the stunned cat. “This isn't over yet Heterodyne!” he roared. “Let the Lady go and stand aside or this abomination becomes road kill!” Reluctantly, Agatha got up, taking care to lean on her prisoner’s face as she did so. 

“You have ruined my hair you great awkward lump!” Llithrig complained, scrambling to her feet and looking at her appearance in horror. “Look at the dirt on this outfit! You can never get the oil stains out of silk you know.” She turned to the Duke with an evil grimace. “Now D’Arcy, will you please kill that horrid little creature.”

“With pleasure!” Lord Machen replied, raising the hammer. Before he could deal the fatal blow there was a sharp crack and a small hole appeared in his forehead. He looked up in surprise at the trickle of blood that ran down between his eyes to join the rivulets pouring from the scratches and bites on his cheeks and nose. There was another crack and a second hole appeared, a quarter of an inch from the first. The Duke dropped the hammer behind him, sank to his knees and then collapsed motionless face down on the floor.

Cedric, still sitting slumped against the wall, moved his pistol to point at Llithrig. “Be so good as to stay where you are and put your hands above your head, please Ms Yr Wrach,” he asked politely. Llithrig looked at him with frightened eyes as though she had never seen him before and did as she was told. Krosp groaned and slowly and painfully got to his feet. Agatha hurried over to help him. So far as she could tell there were no broken bones or serious injuries.

“Are you alright?” she asked with real concern.

“Nothing a large amount of chicken, a saucer of good cream and 18 hours uninterrupted sleep won’t fix,” he told her, milking the situation for all it was worth. “You know,” he added in a whisper, “when I asked Cedric if he was going to be George Washington or Benedict Arnold this isn't quite what I meant.”

“Hush,” Agatha murmured, “it seems to have worked anyway.”

While Agatha was distracted, Llithrig leant forward and adopted her best artistic pose to deploy her feminine charms to their maximum advantage for Cedric’s benefit.

“Cedric dear, you’re not really going to shoot me are you?” she pleaded, opening her eyes very wide. “I mean, not after… EEP!!” The shot from the Earl’s pistol smashed the glass retort on the bench that her left hand that had been about to grasp. She flinched away from its corrosive contents as they ate through the benchtop.

“Did you honestly think I would chose you over a true Hero?” he told her. “Now, I’m a very good shot with a pistol. I’d rather not kill a woman, even one like you, unless I really have to, but I could quite easily repay the favour and, perhaps, shoot you in the leg.”

“But that might leave a scar!” exclaimed Llithrig in horror. “Would it show?”

“Knowing you, almost certainly,” retorted Agatha.

Krosp limped over to Cedric. “A nice idea to throw me at the Duke, although a bit more warning next time would be good.”

Cedric shrugged. “Cats as missile weapons? I read it in a book.”

Meanwhile, Agatha knelt down to examine Lord Machen who was lying face down in a slowly spreading red puddle.

“Is he dead?” asked Cedric. “I wasn't sure if my old target-shooting pistol would be enough to actually kill someone. It's only a small calibre.”

“Oh yes, he's dead alright,” confirmed Agatha. “For a close range head shot a smaller calibre and slow muzzle velocity like that is actually more effective. A fast heavy bullet can go right through someone's head, making a hole but leaving enough undamaged brain to reanimate. A small bullet likes yours has enough speed to go through the front of the head, but not enough to get out at the back, so instead it ricochets around inside the skull causing lots more damage. Don't worry, the Duke's brain is now porridge. No-one will be putting that back together.”

Cedric grimaced. “I'm not even going to ask how you know that.”  He never ate porridge again. Even as he spoke, the gun wavered in his hands and then fell from his hands to the floor. His eyes lost focus and his head lolled.

“Oh yeah,” said Krosp casually to Agatha, “Cedric is still bleeding over here. It might be a good idea if you had a look at him too.” Agatha grabbed some bandages and a trauma kit from the medical workbench. Fortunately, for all her belief in holistic medicine and alternative remedies, Llithrig still had some real medical supplies at hand for when people were actually injured or ill. Agatha cut away a section of the Earl’s trouser leg to examine the wound in his thigh. Fortunately it didn’t look too serious and it only took a few stitches and a little sealing compound to staunch the bleeding. She finished up with a large dose of Gibberne’s B Syrup, an excellent stimulant she had used many times before. From a strictly medical point of view it would probably have been better to let the Earl rest, but Agatha had no intention of carrying him up all those stairs. Cedric awoke with a start to find Agatha gazing into his eyes to check his pupil reflex.

“Agatha,” he whispered and reached up to touch her cheek. She was suddenly very aware of how close their lips were. Her pulse quickened at the touch of his breath on her face.

The spell was broken when Llithrig Yr Wrach, seeing her opportunity, shrieked and fled. Or at least she ran as fast as she could in her elegant high heels. Agatha watched her tottering escape towards the door in bemused amusement.

“Why doesn’t she take those stupid shoes off?” she asked as she climbed to her feet.

“A fashionable lady like that?” replied Cedric from his seat on the floor. “She’d rather be seen dead than wearing a pair of practical shoes.”

“Right, I can arrange that!” declared Agatha, clapping her hands together. “Let’s go! Cedric, you stay there until the sealant has set! I don’t want you opening the wound and bleeding to death.”

“Wait!” called the Earl. “Will you have to kill her? Could you have pity on her?”

“She deserves to die,” replied Krosp unsympathetically.

“Perhaps. Many who live deserve to die. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?”

Agatha considered. “It depends. So long as the brain isn’t totally destroyed and I’ve access to a first-rate lightning generator I can certainly give it try.”

Cedric rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

 Agatha grabbed a spanner and ran after her rival but then stopped with a shriek of horror at the door.

“Get after her!” yowled Krosp. “Don't let her escape”.

“But I can't go running around without any clothes on!” she indicated her camisole and pantalettes. “Suppose someone sees me like this?”

Krosp rolled his eyes in exasperation. “She's getting away! Again! Look, what are you worried about? Even in your underwear you're still wearing more than she is! And she said you had a fat butt! Get her!”

Agatha's resolved hardened and she dashed out of the room, with Krosp close at her heels. Together they ran across the store room into the Brass Butterfly chamber. Through the smoke and steam they saw Llithrig standing on the lifting platform amid the wreckage of the _ornithopter_ , fiddling with a control console. As Agatha and Krosp leaped onto the platform it suddenly lurched as the hydraulics engaged, sending them both off balance. With a scream of tortured metal the platform tried to rise, but the wreckage of the brass butterfly was still weighing it down on one side, half on and half off the platform. Llithrig turned to confront her rival Spark.

“You! You stole Cedric from me!”

“What do you care?” retorted Agatha. You don’t feel anything for him!”

“That’s not the point! He was mine! Mine! What Abomination of Science did you use on him you great fat patchwork construct?”

“I didn’t use anything on him. I didn’t have to. In the end he preferred me because I’m better than you. A better Spark, a better person and a better woman.”

“No, I don’t believe it! How can he possibly prefer someone who walks around wearing a circus tent to me?”

“Maybe that’s a question you need to ask yourself you cow! There’s more to being a woman that cavorting around with no clothes on. Oh, men will think you’re fine for a one night stand, or an amusing way to pass an evening, but when it comes down to it, they’ll never respect you. For a real relationship they’ll always prefer someone with talent, someone with intelligence, someone they can trust and someone who will love them in return!”

‘And most important, someone who can cook,’ thought Krosp to himself, although, wisely, he did not say that out loud.

There was the sound of buckling and snapping linkages as the hydraulics strained against the wreckage. Suddenly the remains of the Butterfly broke free and fell to the ground with a crash of splintering wood and grinding metal. The platform started to rise rapidly, but rocked alarming backwards and forwards as it came free, the damaged supports to the lifting piston threatening to break at any moment and send them all plummeting to the ground. Agatha managed to keep her feet, but Llithrig, wobbling on her high heels, fell over backwards and sat down heavily in an inelegant manner.

Agatha stood over her rival Spark. “Now, stay down,” she snarled, thumping her spanner meaningfully into her left palm. Llithrig scrambled away from her, then with a sudden movement she reached behind the console and produced Agatha’s death ray. With a cry of triumph she stood up, levelled it at its creator’s head and pulled the trigger. There was an unimpressive click - and that was all. Llithrig looked at the weapon in disbelief.

“Safety catch,” Agatha informed her, advancing with the spanner swinging.

“Not the Face!” squealed Llithrig. Agatha hit her in the face with the spanner, knocking her to the floor again. The death ray tumbled on to the floor of the platform. Llithrig shrieked in horror, holding her split lip.

“You bitch, you ugly, fat, grotesque jealous bitch,” she screamed, for the first time the true insanity of a real Spark entering her voice. “Don’t you realise how beautiful I am?” Agatha picked up two small hard, damp objects from the floor and threw them to her.

“Here, these are you teeth. Now…” With a maniacal scream of insane hatred Llithrig launched herself at Agatha, her hands shaped into claws, her face distorted in rage. Agatha hit her again but she didn’t seem to feel the blow. Llithrig grabbed the spanner and threw it away to clatter into the wreckage far below, then went for Agatha’s throat. Suddenly the long, carefully manicured nails looked less ladylike and more like the talons of a wild beast. Agatha put her arms up to defend herself and the claws raked long scratches down her arms. She realised that this ultimate indignity, this marring of her pretty perfect face, had been the final trigger for Llithrig’s breakthrough and that only now was she operating as a full-blown Spark.

“You had to spoil my magnificence just because you are jealous of my wonderful beauty,”  
screamed Llithrig, “you fat, ugly, bloated, overweight, blimp!”

Agatha finally, _finally_ lost her temper, “I am a 12! A 12 I SAY!!” she cried and launched herself at her opponent with equal ferocity.

Krosp sighed. For all their amazing inventions, for all their genius, for all their secret lairs and clanks and constructs and Evil Plans, it was disappointing how battles between Sparks so often ended up with the two enraged protagonists simply trying to punch each other’s heads in. He hoped the Jägers never got to hear about this. If they found out he’d been watching two scantily-clad young women grappling with each other but he hadn’t thought to bring a camera, he was never going to hear the end of it. He decided it was time to help, but as he approached he got another kick (he was never quite sure from whom) that sent him tumbling over the side of the platform. He managed to grab a dangling cable to prevent himself falling and swung precariously above the drop. The fact that he would be sure to land on his feet if he fell was no comfort whatsoever.

The platform tilted backwards and forwards as the two Sparks fought. Despite her own rage, Agatha was gradually forced backwards by the sheer ferocity of Llithrig’s insane attacks. She realised she was being pushed to the edge of the dangerously teetering platform. It looked a long fall to the floor onto a litter of smouldering, sharp and spiky metallic wreckage. She saw Krosp, still hanging on desperately to his cable, but she was far too preoccupied to help him.

With a grinding of gears, the platform stopped rising before it reached the ceiling. The hydraulic pumps continued to strain, but the system was too damaged to lift the platform any higher. The ceiling panel slid back and the four arms descended, although there was nothing for them to lift. With a desperate effort, Agatha pushed her opponent backwards, away from her. Llithrig picked up the death ray again and rushed at Agatha wielding it like a club. Agatha feinted sideways. Llithrig dived past her and fell on the edge of the platform, but didn’t plunge off the edge as Agatha had hoped. Before the druidess could regain her feet, Agatha took a flying leap across the sloping platform to the far side. She landed as heavily as possible and as near the edge as she dared. The unstable platform tipped up like a see-saw, propelling her enemy into the air along with a mass of assorted debris that littered the platform. Llithrig shrieked and released the Death Ray, which landed with a clatter in the tunnel that would have taken the Brass Butterfly up to the surface. For a long second she grasped at thin air and then just managed to grab one of the lifting arms to prevent herself falling, where she hung, terrified.

Krosp scrambled back up onto the platform. “Ha, got her!” he chortled. “Lucky you were heav...” just in time he caught the insane rage on Agatha’s face, “…stronger, yes, definitely stronger than her.”

Llithrig, dangling from the lifting arm, managed to swing across and clamber into the access tunnel. The two Sparks glared at each other across the gap, panting with hatred and exertion. Agatha realised that it was too far for her to jump from the platform and follow. She considered a flying leap to one of the arms, but she didn’t think she would make it. She ground her teeth in frustrated anger. Llithrig gave a gapped-tooth smile.

“It seems I will escape after all, Lady Heterodyne,” she sneered.

“This isn’t over you emaciated cow!” shouted Agatha, shaking her fists in impotent rage. “I’ll hunt you down!”

“Oh dear, now who is being clichéd? And oh look what I’ve found.” She reached down and picked up Agatha’s death ray, where it had fallen on the floor of the tunnel. “Now, Safety Catch you say, hm.” She studied the various dials and switches on the weapon. Agatha realised she had nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Even if she tried to make the platform descend she wouldn’t be able to outrun her own death ray and anyway she was far too full of Spark-induced madness to even consider retreat. Then, looking past Llithrig, she saw a glint of polished metal at the far end of the tunnel.

<Move forward, maximum speed> she called out.

“Bless you,” mocked Llithrig, “but it won’t be a cold that kills you”. Agatha looked at the platform’s control console and pushed a button. The conveyor belt on which Llithrig was standing started to move and she flailed to keep her balance.

“Nice try, Heterodyne, but the controls on this side override yours.” She leaned over, pressed a button on the wall and the conveyor belt stopped again.

“I only wanted to move you a little way,” Agatha growled and pushed another button on her console. The security portcullis crashed down in front of Llithrig, “and even you have enough grasp of security to make my button the over-ride for that.”

“Ha, pathetic. Now you definitely won’t be able to get to me but I can still shoot you through the grating you fool. Oh look, and I do believe I’ve found the Safety Catch. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“It took you long enough. It’s the big red lever by the trigger with SAFETY CATCH written on it in white capital letters. You can read can’t you? Oh but I forgot, it’s in Romanian and you can’t speak foreign languages.”

Llithrig raised the death ray, taking a few seconds to fit the long barrel through the grating of the portcullis. Finally she manoeuvred it into position and pointed it at Agatha. Three red targeting spots converged on Agatha’s chest and the death ray gave its happy little peep peep.

“HA!” gloated Llithrig. “Mock all you want fatso! I’ve won after all! Such delicious irony, the Great Agatha Heterodyne, killed by her own Death Ray! Who is the best woman and the more powerful Spark now?! This is where I…”

“<Activate drill! Maximum Speed!>” yelled Agatha. There was a loud roar of powerful motors. Llithrig was suddenly aware of something very large and sharply metallic behind her. Turning she found herself face to face with the fast approaching drilling clank, its three razor-sharp interlocking rotating drill heads already spinning rapidly. She tried to bring the death ray round to shoot at the clank but the barrel was wedged in the grating of the portcullis. The Heterodyne clawed at the air in triumph. Her wild exultation would have made her ancestors proud.

“Now, die you Witch! Die!! DIE!!! _DIE!!!!_ MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!”

Llithrig pressed her back against the security portcullis and raised her arms to defend herself but she was trapped with nowhere to run.

“NO! STOP! DISENGAGE!” she shouted at the clank, then remembered that it only responded to instructions in Welsh. “Er… <CATCH!> no <STAGNANT!> no <S…> AAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!”

Her wail of terror rose to one last terrible scream as the clank’s drilling head ploughed through her body and on into the portcullis behind her. There was the sound of rending metal, a shower of metal-on-metal sparks and a spray of red mist. Then the fully-charged death ray was caught into the spinning drill head and clank and death ray exploded together in a fiery blast. The shock wave rocked the precarious platform, forcing the Heterodyne to stop her gloating and hang on for dear life. Krosp’s claws left scratch marks across the metal floor as he just managed to save himself from being blown off the platform. Razor sharp fragments of metal sped through the air. Fortunately none of them hit Agatha, although, in accordance with the rules of a Heterodyne Story, they did make some artistically positioned rips in her underwear.

Then it was over. A sudden stillness descended on the chamber. All that remained of Llithrig Yr Wrach was a lingering smell of overcooked pork and a few pieces of burning silk that fluttered down to the floor like the first moths of summer in a candle flame. Agatha sat down heavily on the platform and looked at the smouldering heap of twisted metal in the tunnel that had been her drilling clank.

“Aw,” she said regretfully, “that was my favourite Death Ray.” Carefully Krosp reached up to the control console and pushed the button to lower the platform to the ground. He walked over to Agatha, who was still sitting staring into space. All her maniacal fury had drained away to leave a lost and distressed little girl. Krosp decided she had had quite enough excitement for one day.

“Come on. Let’s get you out into the fresh air,” he told her. Once the platform had returned to ground level he took Agatha’s hand and led her up the stairs of the secret passage. 

A crowd of the Palace staff had gathered around the Secret Entrance to the Secret Laboratory, attracted by the gunfire and explosions from below. Krosp was worried that they might be hostile. Agatha was in no fit state to defend herself and if they were desperate enough even his unbearable cuteness might not be enough to protect them. He leapt up onto one of the polished tables, pulled his coat straight, drew himself up to his full height and adopted his best Emperor pose.

“The Duke of Machen and Llithrig Yr Wrach are dead,” he announced. “All the details of their Evil Plan are already known to the British Authorities, who will be arriving at any moment to take charge. If any of you happen to have any involvement in the Duke’s machinations, now would be a very good time to make your escape.” The assembled servants all tried to leave through the door at the same time.

“That’s that sorted out,” Krosp remarked with satisfaction. To his annoyance Agatha still looked in shock and made no acknowledgement of his cleverness. “Come on you,” he said, gently tugging at her hand, “let’s get you outside.” Ignoring the staff who were stampeding through the corridors with hurriedly packed suitcases and small but valuable ‘mementoes’, he led her through the house and out into the garden where he found a garden bench with a lovely view over the beautiful immaculate lawns and flower beds. Agatha slumped onto the seat, leaned back and gave a long, sad sigh.

“What's wrong?” asked Krosp, jumping up beside her and rubbing his nose against her hand. “You smell upset. Don’t worry I’m going to be fine; I’m a lot tougher than I look, honestly. It’s over. You've beaten all the bad guys, you've saved Britain, Cedric didn’t get shot any more than he deserves. You've fixed everything. You should be happy.”

Agatha began to absently stroke the cat's head.

“I've fixed things. But, you know, I've never killed anyone before.”

Krosp looked up sceptically. He thought of the Battle of Sturmhalten and Agatha's Battle Circus, including the infamous Merry-go-Round from Master Payne's Circus of Adventure, recently voted the third most insane Spark-created weapon of mass destruction of the last decade (Agatha had another three entries in the top ten, although the citizens of Mechanicsburg were extremely disappointed she didn’t get number one). And then there was the considerable number of people impaled, crushed, incinerated and otherwise exterminated at her direct and indirect orders during her time fixing Castle Heterodyne. Not to mention the great Siege of Mechanicsburg against, well, just about everyone. The acid-spraying street-cleaning clanks Agatha had repurposed to fight the invaders had been condemned by two popes and one had even proposed indicting her for war crimes. Admittedly the other five popes were building their own versions under licence for use in crowd control, but the assertion that Agatha had never actually killed anyone was at the best being extremely economical with the truth. Agatha seemed to understand his silence.

“I mean, I've never looked into someone's eyes and… and… and really enjoyed killing them. I really, really wanted her to kill her and at the time I felt really good when she died horribly. I... I don't know that I like that feeling.”

Krosp was dismissive. “She _was_ trying to kill _you_.”

 “I know.”

“She did call you fat, badly dressed...”

“I know.”

“....stupid, clumsy, ugly...”

“I Know!”

“...with a very large backside....”

“ _I KNOW!!_ ”

“Look, it’s good that you feel bad. That is exactly what your father would have said. He had to kill people too sometimes, but he always felt sorry about it afterwards. The time to start worrying is when you aren't worried about killing people.” He paused and frowned, trying to decide if his last sentence had made sense.

“But, my father would have tried to save her, given her another chance, tried to get her to reform.”

“Yes, but none of the Villains your father defeated ever made disparaging comments about his dress size, at least, if you don’t count that time when… wait, what was that?!”

His sensitive ears had picked up a sound from behind the laurel topiary, cut with years of obsessive toil into the shape of the Storm King stealing the pies. A familiar sound in an unexpected place, which made it difficult to identify. It sounded like... it sounded like... a hum increasing in pitch and intensity; it sounded like the Heterodyne death knight armour powering up.

“Get Down!” he shouted and dived at Agatha, attempting to drag her out of the line of fire. Unfortunately due to the relative sizes of cat and Spark he merely ended up swinging from the bottom of her camisole. With a roar and flash of flame the topiary was engulfed in a fireball. Through the inferno strode the death knight armour, contemptuously sweeping aside the charred remains. Agatha gaped at it in astonishment, too surprised to take cover. There wasn't any point in trying to hide behind a wooden garden bench anyway.

“I don't believe it!” howled Krosp. “You left the keys in the ignition?!”

Twin PPCs rose to point at them. From behind the broken glass of the cockpit came an insane broken cackle.

“Now! At Last! Die damn you! DIE!! DIE!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

 


	15. The Conquering Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Agatha Heterodyne demonstrates her gratitude and the Earl of Albemarle receives an early birthday present_

Agatha and Krosp gaped in helpless astonishment at the small figure with the crooked teeth peering out through the broken windows of the death knight armour, his sullen, resentful expression replaced by a look of insane maniacal joy. The PPCs fired again and two bright blue balls of orgone plasma soared over their heads, evaporated the romantic climbing magnolia pergola twenty metres behind them and set a large perfectly-trimmed box hedge ablaze.

“Mr Chitters!” Agatha shouted, “What are you doing to your beautiful garden?”

The insane gardener at the clank’s controls became her of them for the first time. A slight hint of sanity reappeared in his wildly staring eyes as he looked down from the cockpit.

“Oh, good afternoon, Miss Clay. I'm sorry to inconvenience you. The garden is currently undergoing extreme maintenance. Could I respectfully suggest that you might be more comfortable indoors?”

“But your garden? Your life's work. What are you doing?”

“My garden? _My_ garden?!” The madness was creeping back into Chitters' voice. “My garden is like a parasite. It eats away my life! No matter how much I give, it always wants more! When I was nine they apprenticed me to the Duke and told me that my job in life was to look after this garden, this awful, terrible garden! And ever since that day it has been a burden on my life, a plague that has blighted my existence! Never, never since that day have I had a moment’s respite from the never ending treadmill that is gardening!”

“But the perfect lawns?”

“Lawns? LAWNS!!” His voice rose to a shriek. “It takes a day of my life to cut them! A day! And then another day to go over them and pick out all the weeds! And then you know what happens?! The next day when you wake up the lawns need cutting again and all the dandelions are back! No matter how much work you do, there is always more! Always!!”

With a roar, a volley of short-range missiles soared into the air from the launch rack, spiralling through the air to rain down at random across the lawn, blowing enormous craters in the perfect turf.

“But, those beautiful roses? Surely you take pride in them?”

“Roses? ROSES?!” His shriek became a tortured insane howl. Spittle splattered the inside of the death knight armour windscreen. “I hate, hate, hate, _hate_ roses!! They don’t cover the ground, so the beds always need weeding!! Then, they are covered with thorns, so every time you work on them your hands end up bloodied and torn and your clothes are in rags!! Then they suffer from every pest, insect and disease you can imagine, so all the time you have to be going round them with sprays and insecticides!! Then they grow and grow so they always need pruning!! And for what?!! A flower that lasts two days and then withers and dies so you have to go round and round all the plants every day removing the dead heads so that even more flowers will come and make even more dead heads!! I hate roses!! I HATE ROSES!!! Never has there been such a plant that steals so much time for so little reward!!”

The laser death ray swivelled across the garden firing a rapid volley, annihilating a perfect row of Grandiflora.

“But… then why do you do it? Why not just leave?”

“Because… Because this was the role I was given and this is what I had to do! Those swine gave me this burden and it was my lot in life to carry it! GARDENING WAS MY DUTY!! And now the Duke of Machen is dead! AND I AM FREE!! _FREE I SAY!!!_ ”

“So you really hate this perfect garden so much that you want to destroy it all?”

“Yes, YES!! But no! Not kill them! Not after the days and weeks and years and years these accursed plants have wasted. All of my life they've stolen from me! I want to make them suffer! I want to make them _pay_!! I'll show them!! I'll show them all!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Still laughing manically, the happy ex-gardener engaged the gears of the battle clank and it lurched forwards across the garden under his imperfect control, the torso swivelling to left and right, its weapons delivering random destruction to the vegetation.

“Er... if you can just park the armour up by the stables at Edgehill House when you've finished with it…” Agatha called after him. She felt a gentle tugging at her leg.

“Come on,” Krosp said. “It's over. Let's find Cedric and get back home.”

Beaufort Palace was empty, much to Agatha’s relief, as she had recovered enough to remember that she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Her first priority was to make herself decent, so she requisitioned a pair of light linen curtains and cobbled together a respectable long white dress in the classical style of Alphonse Mucha.

“There’s one thing that is still puzzling me,” Krosp mused as they walked back down the stairs to the Secret Laboratory. “Since when did any of your death rays have a safety catch?”

Agatha looked embarrassed. “Oh, that was von Zinzer’s idea. He assembled the basic chassis for me and thought it would be a useful design feature. I wasn’t very pleased with him at the time.” She thought for a moment. “I’d appreciate if you don’t mention this to him. I’ll never hear the end of it. You know what he’s like when it comes to Health and Safety red tape.”

\------------------*

Meanwhile, back in the Secret Laboratory, Cedric had managed to move from his seat on the floor against the wall to the surgical bench so he could lie down in comfort. He hadn’t dare go to sleep, because Agatha’s little clank, the one with the built-in circular saw, had positioned itself near his head and was watching him with disquieting enthusiasm. Cedric kept telling himself that it was only obeying instructions and was poised ready to free him should be restrained, but he couldn’t shake off the unreasonable idea that in fact it regarded him as a new experimental subject and was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to practise a few amputations. Therefore, he was very pleased to see Agatha and Krosp walk back into the Secret Laboratory. When he saw Agatha in her new dress his heart skipped a beat. Although she didn’t realise it, the way it draped over her figure and the fact that it was ever so slightly transparent made her look far more attractive and alluring than all the nieces who habitually walked around in their underwear. She could have been the embodiment of Britannia herself.

“Erm, I heard the scream,” Cedric said uncertainly. “And the explosion. I take it Llithrig is…”

“…is no longer a problem,” said Krosp, completing his sentence for him. Agatha’s guilty look told Cedric everything he needed to know.

“I’m sure you didn’t have any other choice,” he told her compassionately. “After it went quiet after all the commotion, I was afraid you might have been hurt too. You know, if anything had happened to you then I…”

 Agatha curtailed any further discussion before it could become embarrassing for everyone by checking Cedric’s wounded leg to make sure the sealing compound had set. She checked the stitches in his other leg too, where the _Heliwr_ had bitten him. Cedric was still a little weak and had trouble walking because he was now limping with both legs. He was too proud to lean on Agatha, much as he would have liked to walk arm-in-arm with her and had he but known it, much as she would have quite liked to walk arm-in-arm with him.

They made a slow ascent of the stairs and then walked through the Palace and round to the stables. For the drive back to Edgehill House Cedric hitched his horse up to one of the Duke’s dog carts, large enough to carry the three of them, but small enough for them to sit companionably side by side. To Cedric’s annoyance, Krosp played chaperone and insisted on sitting between him and Agatha. They headed for the back entrance; none of them felt the need to enjoy the artistic vistas of the long and winding road from the front gate. As they rounded the corner onto the main drive to Edgehill House, Cedric reigned in and stopped. The way ahead was blocked with people. When the crowd saw the dog cart they started shouting and waving their arms about.

“Oh,” exclaimed Cedric in surprise, “it’s everyone from the village. What on earth are they all doing here?”

“Villagers?!” squeaked Krosp in alarm and dived beneath Agatha’s skirts. His wide, frightened eyes peered out from under the hem. “Pitchforks!” he whimpered. “Are there pitchforks?!”

“I think it’s OK,” said Agatha slowly. “I don’t think this is the usual village reception committee that we get. I can’t see any pitchforks or burning torches. They aren’t so much shouting ‘Kill the Spark’ as… you know I do believe that they are cheering us.” Indeed as they slowly moved forward the crowd parted before them and began to cheer and applaud.

“No pitchforks? You’re quite sure?” said Krosp, cautiously pushing his head out.

The entire village had arrived to see the conquering heroes come. Parents lifted their children onto their shoulders so they could get a view and in years to come tell their own children and grandchildren of the day that they saw the great Lady Agatha Heterodyne. Someone had found a union flag and was waving it energetically at the back of the crowd. Once he was sure there were, in fact, no sharp or pointy agricultural implements Krosp climbed up onto Cedric’s shoulder from whence he acknowledged the cheering crowd with Imperial waves.

“It certainly makes a change to…” began Agatha.

“Oh sod!” interrupted Cedric. Ahead they saw Mr MacLeod standing on a bank by the side of the road, warming up his bagpipes. As they approached he began to play. To Krosp’s disappointment it wasn’t the usual almost-but-not-quite-rhythmic random notes of a Scottish reel but [a proper tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16MqXT4-kA0) – and more than that. It was a simple song that spoke of pride in the completion of a difficult job well done; that spoke of a trial that had been distasteful but necessary, of a victory that had been achieved at a cost that was difficult to bear. But it also spoke of success; of the achievement of adversity overcome and the triumph of the forces of good over evil; of hope, because today, in one small part of the world, the darkness pressing in on the tiny circle of civilisation had been driven back and if today then maybe tomorrow too. Cedric stopped to listen and an unbidden tear glinted in his eye.

“Macleod, what tune was that?” he asked as his gamekeeper finished playing.

“That was ‘The Crags of Tumbledown Mountain’ m’lord,” the man replied.

“Wake me with that tune every morning.” MacLeod gave a nod of acknowledgement to his squire and walked away without another word.

Full of the warm glow of a job well done, Agatha, Krosp and Cedric left the crowd behind and turned the last corner to the front of Albemarle House only to find that someone had parked a tank on the lawn. It was a gigantic Land Ironclad, like a small house on pedrails, bristling with guns and turrets. At least as far as they could tell it wasn’t powered up and none of the weapons moved to point at them. Nevertheless, as they tied up the horse and walked up the steps to the main entrance of the house, they gave the enormous war machine a nervous backward glance or two. Hendon met them in the hall.

“Welcome back, My Lord,” he said, far too well-disciplined to show any surprise at the turn of events. ”Tea is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

“Excellent,” replied Cedric. “A cup of tea will certainly hit the spot about now. How did you know we were on our way back?”

“Um... Tea had already been ordered before you and your guests arrived My Lord.”

“Oh, good, er, I think. One other thing Hendon. Couldn’t help noticing you know. Why is there a Land Ironclad sitting outside?”

“It would probably be best if the owner explain that to you herself, My Lord.” Without another word the butler led them into the drawing room. Miss Gaunt was sitting at the table, pouring herself a cup of Darjeeling from the best teapot, flanked by two shiny black battle clanks with the portcullis sigil of the British Parliament emblazoned on their chests, unobtrusive, but obviously fast and dangerous. She rose as Cedric and his guests entered and gestured for them to sit as though she were the host.

“Ah, Emperor Krosp, Lady Heterodyne, Lord Albemarle. Please, do take a seat and help yourself to some tea. That will be all, thank you Mr Hendon. I think it will be rather more discreet if we serve ourselves this afternoon don't you think?” The butler gave a disapproving look, but withdrew without a word. Cedric stared at his housekeeper and her clanks in disbelief.

“Miss Gaunt! Do you mean to say you’ve been working for her Undying Majesty all along? That Queen Albia has known everything that’s been going on from the start?” He turned very pale as the full implications sank in. “Oh dear.”

“Do try and keep up Cedric,” Krosp told him impatiently. The three of them sat down around the table and poured their tea. Ever the considerate one, Miss Gaunt had arranged for a high chair and a saucer of cream for Krosp.

Agatha scowled at the British agent from over the rim of her teacup. “So, this was your plan all along?”

“Yes and no,” admitted Miss Gaunt. “Everything has worked out for the best in the end, even if it was all rather more complicated than we thought, but let's face it, no plan survives contact with the enemy – or your allies for that matter. Our mistake was assuming that you were far more like your ancestors than your father. After your last visit that wasn't such an outrageous assumption to make, you must agree. We were expecting you to fly into an insane rage when you met Yr Wrach and Lord Machen at the garden party and kill them there and then in front of lots of witnesses, hopefully without too much collateral damage. As it turned out you were far too reasonable. If you could have disposed of the two ring leaders before they’d had a chance to muster their forces we could probably have dispersed the Army of Gwaelod back to their homes without too much fuss, rather than having to carpet bomb them.” She said this without any apportion of guilt or approbation. It was just a plain statement of fact by a woman used to making decisions and dealing with the consequences.

“Mr Wooster would never have called in the bombers like that,” said Agatha accusingly.

“Mr Wooster is at heart a good man who agonises about the consequences of his actions,” Miss Gaunt agreed, “which is a fine thing to do, but not if you are one of her Undying Majesty's field agents. Frankly, in my opinion he would be much better suited to a career in the Diplomatic Corps.”

Cedric frowned. “I take it Miss Dunn's retirement so you could come and spy on me wasn't a convenient coincidence,” he said accusingly, “any more than the Wellesleys happened to leave Wamblecropt Farm just when Llithrig needed somewhere close to my estate for her miners to stay in.”

“Of course not.”

“What did you do with her? I suppose you quietly knocked her on the head and dropped her down a hole in the ground too just like Llithrig did to that poor family?”

Miss Gaunt looked taken aback and a trifle insulted. “Of course not! What sort of people do you think we are? It's the hardworking, respectable, useful people like Miss Dunn who are the most important and the sort of people Her Undying Majesty employs me to look after.”

“What, you care about the little people too?” enquired Krosp sarcastically.

“Of course. That is what we do. That is what Government is for, not to safeguard the needs and interests of some self-serving elite. ‘To serve the right, to crush the wrong and to protect the weak’, as the Old King promised. Miss Dunn is happy in her cottage living very comfortably on her legacy and we will do everything in our power to ensure she has a long and happy retirement. Of course the 'legacy' was all arranged by Her Undying Majesty's Secret Service, but it was what she had always dreamed of all her life although she never hoped to attain it. If you don't believe me, invite yourself up to the Lake District and visit her.”

“Oh, sorry,” replied Cedric. “I'm glad she’s happy. She served our family all her life.” He thought for a moment and grinned. “Mind you, now I won't have a housekeeper again. You wouldn't be interested in staying on I suppose? You honestly have been very good at it. The house has never run so well.”

“You mean give up my life of action and adventure, defending The Realm of Her Undying Majesty against the encroaching darkness; my life of travelling between all the great cities of the world; the romance of meeting the World's most powerful and influential people? Give up the constant excitement of playing the great game of politics and intrigue? Turn my back on all that and be your housekeeper, where the intrigue consists of advising Beryl whether she should walk out with the butcher's delivery boy or the apothecary's son, the romance consists of a light-hearted flirtation with Mr Hendon and the only thing likely to kill me is a fall down the stairs because Jane has put one of the stair rods on the inside of the carpet again. You really need to talk to her about that by the way.”

Miss Gaunt’s shoulders sagged and for a brief moment the mask slipped. “My Lord, I would love to stay here and be your housekeeper, more than anything, anything in the World. To live among good, honest people without having to constantly be on my guard against assassination and betrayal; to live in this beautiful house in this beautiful countryside; to be part of your household and know, with absolute certainty that what I do really is making the World a better place, even if it is only this very small part of it. To be able to be, well, just me.” She sighed and straightened her back as the mask sprang back into place. “But unfortunately, that isn't an option. Duty calls. I'm sure you'll soon find yourself a new housekeeper.”

She paused and sipped her tea. “Anyway, we’ve already taken possession of the ‘Secret Laboratory’ at Beaufort Palace and I’ve reviewed the recordings from my covert surveillance equipment, so I think I’m up to speed on what happened there.”

“I didn’t see any covert surveillance in the Secret Laboratory!” exclaimed Agatha.

“Which is exactly what you may expect to see when you look for my covert surveillance devices,” replied Miss Gaunt, “even if his Excellency here did eat one of them.” Krosp suddenly felt slightly bilious. “Shame about your drilling clank; it was a brilliant piece of work and it really could have revolutionised the coal mining industry. Of course, Llithrig Yr Wrach’s body will never be found. No doubt there will be rumours that she is still out there, fighting for Wales. I expect there will even be a few unconfirmed sightings.”

“Not a complete victory for you then,” Krosp told her with some satisfaction.

“I wouldn’t say that. We’ll be the ones starting the rumours. We’ll be able to keep the Nationalist movement under control for years.”

“Don’t you would want to stamp it out completely?” asked Agatha.

“Good gracious no, why ever would we want to do that? The Welsh enjoy complaining about the English so much. We wouldn’t want to take away all their fun now would we? You know what the definition of a well-balanced Welshman is of course? A man with a chip on both shoulders.”

“I'm surprised you didn't simply demand that they yielded in Queen Albia's name.” Krosp said. “I thought that no Englishman could be unmoved by such an appeal.”

“Remember your cultural sensitivity, Krosp,” retorted Agatha with a smirk. “You forget they weren't Englishmen.” The cat glared at her.

“How long have you two been married?” Miss Gaunt asked innocently. “While we are on the subject, if I can give you some advice Lady Heterodyne, it really is time you decided between your two swains.”

“Oh, not you as well,” Agatha complained in irritation. “I suppose you are going to give me the lecture on the importance of a stable Europa aren't you? Or are you going to take the Castle's side and start nagging me about the need to produce more Heterodynes as though I'm some kind of rare pedigree pig?”

“Well, a stable Europa and an established Heterodyne succession would both be greatly to the benefit of Britain and the World in general, but I was thinking more along the lines that what you really need is a damned good seeing to. I don't think I'm the first person to tell you that.”

Agatha blushed. “She didn't quite put it that way,” she said angrily. Miss Gaunt smiled at her indulgently.

“I think it would do you the world of good. It would help raise your self-esteem and do wonders for your mental stability.” That was the last straw. Agatha sprang to her feet and slammed her fist on the table, making all the tea cups bounce and rattle in their saucers.

“DON'T YOU DARE! DON'T YOU DARE SUGGEST I AM MENTALLY UNSTABLE!” she screamed. “I! AM! COMPLETELY! _SANE_!!”

The two clanks standing behind Miss Gaunt sprang to a battle ready position, pointing their machine cannons at Agatha’s head. Miss Gaunt carefully poured the spilt tea in her saucer back into her cup. “Wipe the spittle from the corner of your mouth my dear,” she told Agatha calmly. “It's not ladylike.” Agatha glowered at her. The tension hung in the air. Although she maintained her casual attitude, every muscle in Miss Gaunt's well-trained body tensed ready for a murderous assault. She was suddenly very, very glad that Lady Heterodyne had not thought to collect a spare death ray before coming to see her.

“So, what did you tell her?” asked Cedric.

“Tell who?” The question took both ladies by surprise.

“Beryl of course,” explained Cedric patiently. “Is she walking out with the butcher's boy or the apothecary's son?” The tense moment passed. Agatha took a deep breath and sat down again. The two clanks lowered their weapons. Miss Gaunt carefully put her cup and saucer, a potentially deadly weapon in her hands, back on the table.

“Oh that was easy. The butcher's boy of course. He may have less money now, but he's hard-working and he’s learning a trade he likes and is good at. He'll be a Master Butcher with his own business before he's done and an excellent provider for a growing family. The apothecary's son may have better clothes, a fancy expensive horse and more money but he gets it all from his parents and he's proud of never having done a day's work in his life. He'll squander everything he has and be a penniless alcoholic by the time he's 40. Complete waster.”

She finished her tea. “Anyway Lady Heterodyne, you might want to give my suggestion some thought on your flight home. Of course if you want to keep your options open you could always have a fling with someone else entirely. You might find you actually enjoy it, but do remember that things are so much simpler if you don't let yourself get too attached to them.” She stood up. “Well, I must be going. There's going to be a lot of paperwork to fill in after this one. My Lord, we will be paying you a few visits, just to make sure everything is in order, but you can expect it all to be smoothed over.”

Cedric, with the instincts of a gentleman, stood as Miss Gaunt stood and Agatha followed his example. Krosp, as an Emperor, naturally remained seated and reflected it really was too much to ask to expect these uncultured heathens to remember that they should not have left the table before him. Miss Gaunt turned at the door.

“Goodbye Lady Heterodyne. It has been a pleasure to meet you. Please accept my apologies for any offence if you feel that you have been managed, but I'm sure you will agree that the end result has been beneficial to everyone. Until we meet again.” She offered her hand. Agatha thought for a long hard moment and then shook it.

“Goodbye, Miss Gaunt, if that really is your name.”

“Don't be silly Lady Heterodyne,” Miss Gaunt told her with a smile.

“I thought as much. So, er…one last question.”

“Yes?” Miss Gaunt paused.

“Um… so that story about the Iron Sheik. Was it all…?”

“Of course.”

“And the part where you used the…”

“Yes that too.”

“Ew! Then how did the three of you…?”

“It’s all in the hips.”

“But the step ladder! Is that even physically possible…?”

“It’s surprisingly pleasurable once you have the knack. I can send you some instructions if you like. With illustrations.”

“No thank you,” said Agatha blushing. With a final smile and a nod Miss Gaunt turned and left the room, followed by her two clanks. Cedric breathed a sigh of relief. A few moments later they heard the engines of the Land Ironclad start up and then recede into the distance as the giant machine drove off towards the village.

“I do believe it's all over!” exclaimed Cedric, “and I do believe I am still alive.” He thought about the implications and came to a decision. “You know, I'm famished. Let's ring down and order dinner. What’s your fancy, Lady Heterodyne?”

“Oh anything,” said Agatha absently, still trying to piece it all together in her head. “Some good filling ch… No, on second thoughts, perhaps you could ask Doe if she can put together a vegetarian option for tonight.”

\--------------------*

Two hours later, the three of them had bathed and dressed for dinner and were sitting around the polished dining table doing full justice to a delicious meal. Agatha wasn't familiar with the dish, some kind of delicious crunchy vegetable in a tangy cheese sauce. Krosp had made it perfectly clear that ['vegetables are what food eats'](http://www.the-whiteboard.com/autowb231.html), so Doe had excelled herself, preparing roasted mice in a cream sauce with a side dish of what Agatha thought looked suspiciously like the re-heated spaniel curry from the previous evening. She concentrated on the food on her plate.

“This is really good,” she told Cedric. “What is it?”

Cedric considered the unidentifiable sauce-coated vegetable on the end of his fork. “I honestly have no idea,” he told her. Agatha stopped in mid-chew and gave him a long look of rising horror. It took all Cedric's willpower to avoid a glance at the massed potted plants behind her. Instead he turned to Hendon.

“My compliments to Doe, and would she be so kind as to come up to the dining room and tell us exactly what we are eating tonight.” The butler relayed the message to a footman, and soon a plump lady with large teeth arrived, somewhat out of breath and looking rather apprehensive, the debacle of chow curry still fresh in her mind and the spectre of her ‘position at Edgehill House no longer being continued' looming before her. Cedric gave her his best gap-toothed smile.

“Ah Doe, delicious meal, well done don't you know. Er... we were wondering if you could tell us what this is, exactly.”

Doe shifted from foot to foot uneasily “Well sir, th’as cauliflower cheese, sir.”

“Cauliflower cheese?!” exclaimed Agatha in horror. “You mean I'm eating cauliflower?! That's...! It's....! Well, actually it's delicious. How did you manage that?”

“You see Ma’am,” Doe told her, “when I were visitin’ my sister in London, I met this foreign gent and ‘e give me the recipe. And I thought as I were cookin’ for a foreigner and everythin’, I might give it a go. I didn't mean no ‘arm like.” She looked from Agatha to Cedric in apprehension.

“Foreign?” asked Cedric suspiciously.

“’e talked wi’ a funny accent, sir. And ‘e were green.”

“Green?”

“Like I said, sir, ‘e were foreign.”

“But it tastes really good. And it's all crisp. What on earth did you do to it?”

“Well Ma’am, apparently the trick is to only boil it for 5 minutes, rather than 3 ‘ours.”

\---------------------*

After the meal, Cedric joined Agatha on the terrace, the glorious view over the landscaped gardens to the green hills beyond marred only by the streams of smoke on the horizon from the burning shrubberies of Beaufort Palace. As she leaned on the balustrade he moved to stand close beside her; rather closer in fact than the minimum permitted distance specified in Baroness Worsley’s “[ _Etiquette for the Modern Young English Lady_](http://www.widdershinscomic.com/wdshn/june-3rd-2015/)”, sharing the view and the peaceful moment of quiet contemplation after the excitement of the last days of Adventure. The Earl leaned over to talk softly in Agatha's ear.

“Lady Heterodyne. Agatha. It has been a pleasure to have worked with you. I hope this incident has brought us closer together and has created a bond of mutual trust, respect and, dare I say it, affection. It is a bond I hope we can strengthen.”

Agatha sighed and turned to look into the Cedric's eyes.

“Yes indeed, I have grown rather fond of you during the last few days,” she replied quietly, “and I do feel bad about that little incident in the Crown and Trumpet. After all, you are quite handsome you know.” She reached out and gently stroked his cheek.

“You really think so?” breathed Cedric, moving even closer.

“You did save my life when that _Heliwr_ tried to kill me in the cave, and I'm so glad you turned out to be a Hero in the end, coming back to save us. That was very brave of you. And you did get shot. So you know, I was thinking I owe it to you to... well...”

She paused uncertainly and looked down shyly.

“Yes?” replied Cedric, encouraged.

“You see I was thinking, it will be at least another hour before it is dark enough for my airship to come in and pick me up and I was wondering....”

“Yes?”

“Look, only if it's something you want too of course. I wouldn't want to be presumptuous or anything...”

“Yes!”

“It's just that I think it might be rather pleasant for both of us if we were to... you know, to...”

“Oh _yes_!”

“...to fix your teeth! Those gaps really do make you look ridiculous.”

“AAAAGH!!” Cedric tried to escape, but it was already far too late.

“It should be quite simple. Come into the parlour.” enthused Agatha, grabbing him by the hand with an iron grip and dragging him back inside through the French windows. “Now sit down in that chair. I've already fitted some restraints. Perfect.” Before he could resist, Cedric was thrust into the chair and little clanks closed manacles around his wrists and ankles. “A couple of metal implants screwed into the jaw and you'll be good as new. Do you still have the teeth I knocked out? Don't worry! I can make you better ones. I've got all the tools I need right here.” She opened a medical bag full of terrifying stainless steel. “Now, open wide! This won't hurt a bit! Well, maybe just a little. Hold still now. I've got all these wonderful concepts for improvements!”

Agatha pulled a small device from her bag that began to spin with a cruel glitter of sharp metal. It emitted a horrible high-pitched whining. So did Cedric. The Heterodyne’s eyes shone with mad enthusiasm as she leaned over him.

“Hang on Cedric, I've got a great idea!”

\-----------------*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I am grateful to Baroque Mongoose and Herdthinner for providing the menu of Agatha and Krosp’s final meal at Edgehill House._   
>  _Zeetha suggested a similar solution for Lady Heterodyne’s problems in[Chapter 2 of Agatha H. and the Fair Dinkum Blue by Herdthinner](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4078513/chapters/9643956), but as Agatha said, she didn’t put it quite like that. _   
>  _It is tempting to speculate that the ‘foreign gent’ whom Doe met in London was none other than the infamous Ottakar von Luftschiff, translocated Jäger and noted vegetarian chef. You can read more about him in[ "The Case of the Translocated Jäger"](http://mongoose-writes.weebly.com/the-case-of-the-translocated-jaumlger.html)._   
> 


	16. Epilogue

On Miss Gaunt’s advice, Beryl started walking out with the butcher’s boy. The two young people married and had five healthy, happy, boisterous children. The butcher’s boy worked through his apprenticeship, became a Master Butcher and ended up owning a chain of successful shops. They all lived happily ever after.

The Duke of Machen’s estates were split up between his extended family. Beaufort Palace passed to one of his nephews, a retiring and impoverished clergyman with a large family and an inordinate fondness for beetles. The money from the estate enabled him to indulge his passion and he became the foremost expert in the field of Coleopterology. You can still see his enormous beetle collection at the British Museum and his 38 volume textbook remains the last word on the subject. He rebuilt the gardens of Beaufort Palace in a less formal style as a playground for his children and their friends, but he never did manage to stop the roof of Beaufort Palace from leaking.

Some sympathetic men in white coats came and took Mr Chitters away. He lived happily for the remainder of his life beneath the industrial dome of Birmingham, in a new housing development built entirely of concrete.

Mr Gomez fled Britain, narrowly avoiding arrest, vowing to return to seek revenge and to take back by force all the things that the British had stolen from him. He never did.

No-one really missed the Duke of Machen. His political party in Wales rapidly disintegrated as it divided into factions. Lesser men fought for control and within five years it had ceased to be a political force. Today he is remembered as a footnote in British history.

Miss Gaunt made several visits to Edgehill House to make sure all the loose ends of her latest operation were cleaned up. She realised that the Earl of Albemarle, a crack shot, a fine horseman, not prone to excessive introspection, with a good throwing arm, a steady nerve, spark-enhanced teeth and a dark secret in his past that could be used as leverage if necessary, would make an ideal agent for Her Undying Majesty’s Secret Service. Cedric, who to be frank was finding the life of a country squire rather boring outside of the hunting and shooting seasons, took to the role very well. He has had many exciting Adventures, but I’m afraid that the Official Secrets Act forbids me to tell you anything further. However my sources tell me that he continues to work very closely with Miss Gaunt, although Mr Hendon never can understand why when she stays overnight on her frequent visits to Edgehill House the Earl always asks for a step ladder to be brought up to his bedroom.

Sir Walter Scott wrote a wildly popular novel ‘The Slippery Witch’ about the exploits of Llithrig Yr Wrach. His story was as historically accurate as all his other books and included a highly imaginative version of the Beaufort Palace affair. The book did at least finally establish in the public mind that Llithrig was the tragic heroine, fighting to bring the plight of the Welsh people to the attention of a benevolent Queen, while the Duke of Machen was the vile and untrustworthy Villain, a self-serving traitor to both the Welsh and to Her Undying Majesty. It is rumoured that Sir Walter received his knighthood for this quite justifiable minor historical adjustment. He did, however, have cause to regret his portrayal of Lady Heterodyne as the awestruck and respectful minion to Llithrig’s amazingly powerful Spark, not to mention the entirely fictitious and highly salacious ‘romantic encounter’ between the two ladies that he included to successfully boost sales in Paris. That Christmas he received a luxury leather-bound copy of his own book, with a hand-written inscription from Lady Heterodyne herself on the title page promising that should their paths ever cross she would make him eat his own words. The ‘Souvenir of Mechanicsburg’ novelty silver cruet that accompanied the book made it perfectly clear that she did not intend this as a figure of speech.

Llithrig Yr Wrach, the beautiful and romantic Welsh heroine, was never caught by the English and remains an icon of Welsh Nationalism to this day. There were many rumours of sightings and several of the more militant members of the Nationalist movement were involved in further terrorist attacks (I’m sorry, the continued armed struggle) against Queen Albia that Llithrig organised from her Secret Lair. Somehow the British authorities always seemed to have forewarning of their plans and everyone was invariably caught red-handed and imprisoned for long periods just as they were about to make their move. Today, you can find Llithrig Yr Wrach’s picture on the souvenir biscuit tins in every gift shop in Wales. At least, unlike Bonny Prince Charlie, the artist didn’t have to use his imagination to make her look beautiful. She did, in the end, achieve the public adulation and heroic place in history that she wanted so much, and she never grew old and ugly.

Lady Heterodyne and Emperor Krosp I returned to Mechanicsburg where they continue to have many Heroic Adventures. You can read all about them in numerous novels, plays and online graphic narratives, which are all as equally true and accurate as this story.

==========================*

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Agatha Heterodyne, Krosp, Queen Albia and the Girl Genius Universe are the creations of Studio Foglio.
> 
> At the time this story was written, the canon Agatha was having Adventures in Paris and had not yet made her long-awaited first visit to Britain. When this does occur in canon the details of Britain as described in this story will doubtless be completely wrong.


End file.
